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Wake-Robin 



VBRaEF 



BY 



JOHN BURROUGHS 



Second Edition, corrected, enlarged, and illustrated 




[jt^k.^ : ;; 



BOSTON 

HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY 

©|)e Hfoersfte Press, (IDamfortiJffe 

^ 1880 






$y Tnnrfst 
JUN 6 !*• 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 

John Burroughs, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



Copyright, 1876, 
By John Burroughs. 



The Riverside Press, Cambridge : 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BV 
H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY- 



\ 






PUBLISHERS' NOTE TO SECOND EDITION. 



In issuing a second and revised edition of Wake- 
Robin, the author has added a chapter on The Blue- 
bird, and otherwise enlarged and corrected the text 
here and there. The illustrations are kindly fur- 
nished by Prof. Baird, and are taken from the " His- 
tory of North American Birds," by himself, Dr. 
Brewer, and Mr. Ridgeway, and published by Little, 
Brown, & Co., — the most complete work on our 
birds that has yet appeared. The hermit-thrush rep- 
resented is the Western hermit {Turdus ustulatis), 
and we have been obliged to substitute the black fly- 
catcher (Saponis nigricans) for the pewee, and the 
house finch (Corpodacus frontalis) for the purple 
finch ; but the difference is hardly appreciable in an 
uncolored engraving. 
/ November, 1876 



% 






PEEFAOE. *^ 



This is mainly a book about the Birds, or more 
properly an invitation to the study of Ornithology, 
and the purpose of the author will be carried out in 
proportion as it awakens and stimulates the interest 
of the reader in this branch of Natural History. 

Though written less in the spirit of exact science 
than with the freedom of love and old acquaintance, 
yet I have in no instance taken liberties with facts, or 
allowed my imagination to influence me to the extent 
of giving a false impression or a wrong coloring. J 
have reaped my harvest more in the woods than in 
the study ; what I offer, in fact, is a careful and con- 
scientious record of actual observations and experi- 
ences, and is true as it stands written, every word of 
it. But what has interested me most in Ornithology, 
is the pursuit, the chase, the discovery ; that part of 
it which is akin to hunting, fishing, and wild sports, 
and which I could carry with me in my eye and ear, 
wherever I went. 



Vi PREFACE. 

I cannot answer with much confidence the poet's 
inquiry, 

" Hast thou named all the birds without a gun ? " 
but I have done what I could to bring home the 
" earth and the sky " with the sparrow I heard " sing- 
ing at dawn on the alder bough." In other words, 
I have tried to present a live bird, — a bird in the 
woods or the fields. — with the atmosphere and asso- 
ciations of the place, and not merely a stuffed and 
labeled specimen. 

A more specific title for the volume would have 
suited me better, but not being able to satisfy myself 
in this direction, I cast about for a word thoroughly 
in the atmosphere and spirit of the book, which I 
hope I have found in " Wake-Robin " — the common 
name of the white Trillium, which blooms in all our 
woods, and which marks the arrival of all the birds. 



CONTENTS. 



PA6B 

I. The Return op the Birds • 9 

II. In the Hemlocks 47 

III. Adirondac 83 

IV. BlRDS'-NESTS 109 

V. Spring at the Capital . . . . 145 

VI. Birch Browsings 177 

VII. The Bluebird 211- 

VIII. The Invitation 225 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 




THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

Spring in our northern climate may fairly be said 
to extend from the middle of March to the middle of 
June. At least, the vernal tide continues to rise 
until the latter date, and it is not till after the sum- 
mer solstice that the shoots and twigs begin to harden 
and turn to wood, or the grass to lose any of its fresh- 
ness and succulency. 

It is this period that marks the return of the birds, 
— - one or two of the more hardy or half-domesticated 
species, like the song-sparrow and the bluebird, usu- 
ally arriving in March, while the rarer and more 
brilliant wood-birds bring up the procession in June. 
But each stage of the advancing season gives prom- 
inence to certain species, as to certain flowers. The 



!S 1882 



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12 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

dandelion tells me when to look for the swallow, the 
dog-toothed violet when to expect the wood-thrush, 
and when I have found the wake-robin in bloom I 
know the season is fairly inaugurated. With me this 
flower is associated, not merely with the awakening 
of Robin, for he has been awake some weeks, but 
with the universal awakening and rehabilitation of 
nature. 

Yet the coming and going of the birds is more or 
less a mystery and a surprise. We go out in the 
morning, and no thrush or vireo is to be heard; we 
go out again, and every tree and grove is musical ; 
yet again, and all is silent. Who saw them come ? 
Who saw them depart ? 

This pert little winter-wren, for instance, darting 
in and out the fence, diving under the rubbish here 
and coming up yards away, — how does he manage 
with those little circular wings to compass degrees 
and zones, and arrive always in the nick of time ? 
Last August I saw him in the remotest wilds of the 
Adirondacs, impatient and inquisitive as usual ; a few 
weeks later, on the Potomac, I was greeted by the 
same hardy little busybody. Does he travel by easy 
stages from bush to bush and from wood to wood ? 
or has that compact little body force and courage to 
brave the night and the upper air, and so achieve 
leagues at one pull ? 

And yonder bluebird with the earth tinge on his 
breast and the sky tinge on his back, — did he come 
down out of heaven on that bright March morning 



THE BETUKN OF THE BIRDS. 



13 






when he told us so softly and plaintively that if we 
pleased, spring had come ? Indeed, there is nothing 
in the return of the birds more curious and suggestive 
than in the first appearance, or rumors of the appear- 
ance, of this little blue-coat. The bird at first seems 
a mere wandering voice in the air ; one hears its call 
or carol on some bright March morning, but is un- 
certain of its source or direction ; it falls like a drop 
of rain when no cloud is visible ; one looks and list- 
ens, but to no purpose. The weather changes, per- 
haps a cold snap with snow comes on, and it may be 
a week before I hear the note again, and this time or 
the next perchance see the bird sitting on a stake in 
the fence lifting his wing as he calls cheerily to his 
mate. Its notes now become daily more frequent ; 
the birds multiply, and, flitting from point to point, 
call and warble more confidently and gleefully. 
Their boldness increases till one sees them hovering 
with a saucy, inquiring air about barns and out- 
buildings, peeping into dove-cotes, and stable win- 
dows, inspecting knot-holes and pump-trees, intent 
only on a place to nest. They wage war against 
robins and wrens, pick quarrels with swallows, and 
seem to deliberate for days over the policy of taking 
forcible possession of one of the mud-houses of the 
latter. But as the season advances they drift more 
into the background. Schemes of conquest which 
they at first seemed bent upon are abandoned, and 
they settle down very quietly in their old quarters in 
remote stumpy fields. 



14 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

Not long after the bluebird comes the robin, some- 
times in March, but in most of the Northern States 
April is the month of the robin. In large numbers 
they scour the fields and groves. You hear their 
piping in the meadow, in the pasture, on the hill-side. 
Walk in the woods, and the dry leaves rustle with 
the whir of their wings, the air is vocal with their 
cheery call. In excess of joy and vivacity, they run, 
leap, scream, chase each other through the air, diving 
and sweeping among the trees with perilous rapidity. 

In that free, fascinating, half-work and half-play 
pursuit, — sugar-making, — a pursuit which still lin- 
gers in many parts of New York, as in New England, 
the robin is one's constant companion. When the 
day is sunny and the ground bare, you meet him at 
all points and hear him at all hours. At sunset, on 
the tops of the tall maples, with look heavenward, 
and in a spirit of utter abandonment, he carols his 
simple strain. And sitting thus amid the stark, si- 
lent trees, above the wet, cold earth, with the chill of 
winter still in the air, there is no fitter or sweeter 
songster in the whole round year. It is in keeping 
with the scene and the occasion. How round and 
genuine the notes are, and how eagerly our ears 
drink them in ! The first utterance, and the spell of 
winter is thoroughly broken, and the remembrance 
of it afar off. 

Robin is one of the most native and democratic of 
our birds ; he is one of the family, and seems much 
nearer to us than those rare, exotic visitants, as the 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 15 

orchard starling or rose-breasted grossbeak, with 
their distant, high-bred ways. Hardy, noisy, frolic- 
some, neighborly and domestic in his habits, strong 
of wing and bold in spirit, he is the pioneer of the 
thrush family, and well worthy of the finer artists 
whose coming he heralds and in a measure prepares 
us for. 

I could wish Robin less native and plebeian in one 
respect, — the building of his nest. Its coarse mate- 
rial and rough masonry are creditable neither to his 
skill as a workman nor to his taste as an artist. I 
am the more forcibly reminded of his deficiency in 
this respect from observing yonder humming-bird's 
nest, which is a marvel of fitness and adaptation, a 
proper setting for this winged gem, — the body of it 
composed of a white, felt-like substance, probably the 
down of some plant or the wool of some worm, and 
toned down in keeping with the branch on which it 
sits by minute tree-lichens, woven together by threads 
as fine and frail as gossamer. From Robin's good 
looks and musical turn we might reasonably predict 
a domicile of equal fitness and elegance. At least I 
demand of him as clean and handsome a nest as the 
king-bird's, whose harsh jingle, compared with Rob- 
in's evening melody, is as the clatter of pots and ket- 
tles beside the tone of a flute. I love his note and 
ways better even than those of the orchard starling 
or the Baltimore oriole ; yet his nest, compared with 
theirs, is a half-subterranean hut contrasted with a 
Roman villa. There is something courtly and poet- 



16 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

ical in a pensile nest. Next to a castle in the air is a 
dwelling suspended to the slender branch of a tall 
tree, swayed and rocked forever by the wind. Why 
need wings be afraid of falling? Why build only 
where boys can climb? After all, we must set it 
down to the account of Robin's democratic turn ; he 
is no aristocrat, but one of the people ; and therefore 
we should expect stability in his workmanship, rather 
than elegance. 

Another April bird, which makes her appearance 
sometimes earlier and sometimes later than Robin, 
and whose memory I fondly cherish, is the Phoebe- 
bird (Muscicapa nunciola), the pioneer of the fly- 
catchers. In the inland firming districts, I used to 
notice her, on some brglit morning about Easter- 
day, proclaiming her arrival with much variety of 
motion and attitude, from the peak of the barn or 
hay-shed. As yet, you may have heard only the 
plaintive, homesick note of the bluebird, or the faint 
trill of the song-sparrow; and Phoebe's clear, viva- 
cious assurance of her veritable bodily presence 
among us again is welcomed by all ears. At agreea- 
ble intervals in her lay she describes a circle or an 
ellipse in the air, ostensibly prospecting for insects, 
but really, I suspect, as an artistic flourish, thrown 
in to make up in some way for the deficiency of her 
musical performance. If plainness of dress indicates 
powers of song, as it usually does, then Phoebe ought 
to be unrivaled in musical ability, for surely that 
ashen-gray suit is the superlative of plainness ; and 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 17 

that form, likewise, would hardly pass for a " perfect 
figure " of a bird. The seasonableness of her com- 
ing, however, and her civil, neighborly ways, shall 
make up for all deficiencies in song aud plumage. 
After a few weeks Phoebe is seldom seen, except as 
she darts from her moss-covered nest beneath some 
bridge or shelving cliff. 

Another April comer, who arrives shortly after 
Robin-redbreast, with whom he associates both at this 
season and in the autumn, is the gold-winged wood- 
pecker, alias " high-hole," alias " flicker," alias 
" yarup." He is an old favorite of my boyhood, and 
his note to me means very much. He announces his 
arrival by a long, loud call, repeated from the dry 
branch of some tree, or a s^ake in the fence — a 
thoroughly melodious April sound. I think how 
Solomon finished that "beautiful description of spring, 
" And the voice of the turtle is heard in the land," 
and see that a description of spring in this farming 
country, to be equally characteristic, should culminate 
in like manner, — " And the call of the high-hole 
comes up from the wood." 

It is a loud, strong, sonorous call, and does not 
seem to imply an answer, but rather to subserve some 
purpose of love or music. It is " Yarup's " proclama- 
tion of peace and good-will to all. On looking at the 
matter closely, I perceive that most birds, not denom- 
inated songsters, have, in the spring, some note or 
sound or call that hints of a song, and answers imper- 
fectly the end of beauty and art. As a " livelier iris 



18 THE KETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

changes on the burnished dove," and the fancy of the 
young man turns lightly to thoughts of his pretty 
cousin, so the same renewing spirit touches the " si- 
lent singers," and they are no longer dumb ; faintly 
they lisp the first syllables of the marvelous tale. 
Witness the clear, sweet whistle of the gray-crested 
titmouse, — the soft, nasal piping of the nuthatch, — 
the amorous, vivacious warble of the bluebird, — the 
long, rich note of the meadow-lark, — the whistle of 
the quail, — the drumming of the partridge, — the 
animation and loquacity of the swallows, and the like. 
Even the hen has a homely, contented carol ; and I 
credit the owls with a desire to fill the night with 
music. All birds are incipient or would-be songsters 
in the spring. I find corroborative evidence of this 
even in the crowing of the cock. The flowering of 
the maple is not so obvious as that of the magnolia ; , 
nevertheless, there is actual inflorescence. 

Few writers award any song to that familiar little 
sparrow, the Socialis ; yet who that has observed him 
sitting by the way-side, and repeating, with devout at- 
titude, that fine sliding chant, does not recognize the 
neglect ? Who has heard the snow-bird sing ? Yet 
he has a lisping warble very savory to the ear. I 
have heard him indulge in it even in February. 

Even the cow-bunting feels the musical tendency, 
and aspires to its expression, with the rest. Perched 
upon the topmost branch beside his mate or mates, — 
for he is quite a polygamist, and usually has two or 
three demure little ladies in faded black beside him, 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 19 

— generally in the early part of the day, he seems 
literally to vomit up his notes. Apparently with 
much labor and effort, they gurgle and blubber up 
out of him, falling on the ear with a peculiar subtile 
ring, as of turning water from a glass bottle, and not 
without a certain pleasing cadence. 

Neither is the common woodpecker entirely insen- 
sible to the wooing of the spring, and, like the par- 
tridge, testifies his appreciation of melody after quite 
a primitive fashion. Passing through the woods, on 
some clear, still morning in March, while the metallic 
ring and tension of winter are still in the earth and 
air, the silence is suddenly broken by long, resonant 
hammering upon a dry limb or stub. x It is Downy 
beating a reveille to spring. In the utter stillness 
and amid the rigid forms we listen with pleasure ; and 
as it comes to my ear oftener at this season than at 
any other, I freely exonerate the author of it from 
the imputation of any gastronomic motives, and credit 
him with a genuine musical performance. 

It is to be expected, therefore, that " Yellow-ham- 
mer " will respond to the general tendency, and con- 
tribute his part to the spring chorus. His April call 
is his finest touch, his most musical expression. 

I recall an ancient maple standing sentry to a large 
sugar-bush, that, year after year, afforded protection 
to a brood of yellow-hammers in its decayed heart. 
A week or two before the nesting seemed actually to 
have begun, three or four of these birds might be 
seen, on almost any bright morning, gamboling and 



20 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

courting amid its decayed branches. Sometimes you 
would hear only a gentle, persuasive cooing, or a 
quiet, confidential chattering, — then that long, loud 
call, taken up by first one, then another, as they sat 
about upon the naked limbs, — anon, a sort of wild, 
rollicking laughter, intermingled with various cries, 
yelps, and squeals, as if some incident had excited 
their mirth and ridicule. Whether this social hilarity 
and boisterousness is in celebration of the pairing or 
mating ceremony, or whether it is only a sort of an- 
nual " house-warming " common among high-holes 
on resuming their summer quarters, is a question 
upon which I reserve my judgment. 

Unlike most of his kinsmen, the golden-wing pre- 
fers the fields and the borders of the forest to the 
deeper seclusion of the woods, and hence, contrary to 
the habit of his tribe, obtains most of his subsistence 
from the ground, probing it for ants and crickets. 
He is not quite satisfied with being a woodpecker. 
He courts the society of the robin and the finches, 
abandons the trees for the meadow, and feeds eagerly 
upon berries and grain. What may be the final up- 
shot of this course of living is a question worthy the 
attention of Darwin. Will his taking to the ground 
and his pedestrian feats result in lengthening his legs, 
his feeding upon berries and grains subdue his tints 
and soften his voice, and his associating with Robin 
put a song into his heart ? 

Indeed, what would be more interesting than the 
history of our birds for the last two or three centuries? 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 



21 



There can be no doubt that the presence of man has 
exerted a very marked and friendly influence upon 
them, since they so multiply in his society. The birds 
of California, it is said, were mostly silent till after its 
settlement, and I doubt if the Indians heard the wood- 
thrush as we hear him. Where did the bobolink 
disport himself before there were meadows in the 
North and rice fields in the South ? Was he the same 
blithe, merry -hearted beau then as now? And the 
sparrow, the lark, and the goldfinch, birds that seem 
so indigenous to the open fields and so averse to the 
woods, — we cannot conceive of their existence in a 
vast wilderness and without man. 

But to return. The song-sparrow, that universal 
favorite and firstling of the spring, comes before 
April, and its simple strain gladdens all hearts. 

May is the month of the swallows and the orioles. 
There are many other distinguished arrivals, indeed 
nine tenths of the birds are here by the last week in 
May, yet the swallows and orioles are the most con- 
spicuous. The bright plumage of the latter seems 
really like an arrival from the tropics. I see them 
flash through the blossoming trees, and all the fore- 
noon hear their incessant warbling and wooing. The 
swallows dive and chatter about the barn, or squeak 
and build beneath the eaves ; the partridge drums in 
the fresh sprouting woods ; the long, tender note of 
the meadow-lark comes up from the meadow ; and at 
sunset, from every marsh and pond come the ten 
thousand voices of the hylas. May is the transition 



22 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

month, and exists to connect April and June, the 
root with the flower. 

With June the cup is full, our hearts are satisfied, 
there is no more to be desired. The perfection of 
the season, among other things, has brought the per- 
fection of the song and plumage of the birds. The 
master artists are all here; and the expectations 
excited by the robin and the song-sparrow are fully 
justified. The thrushes have all come ; and I sit 
down upon the first rock, with hands full of the pink 
azalea, to listen. With me, the cuckoo does not ar- 
rive till June ; and often the goldfinch, the king-bird, 
the scarlet tanager delay their coming till then. In 
the meadows the bobolink is in all his glory ; in the 
high pastures the field-sparrow sings his breezy ves- 
per-hymn ; and the woods are unfolding to the music 
of the thrushes. 

The cuckoo is one of the most solitary birds of our 
forests, and is strangely tame and quiet, appearing 
equally untouched by joy or grief, fear or anger. 
Something remote seems ever weighing upon his 
mind. His note or call is as of one lost or wander- 
dering, and to the farmer is prophetic of rain. Amid 
the general joy and the sweet assurance of things, I 
love to listen to the strange clairvoyant call. Heard 
a quarter of a mile away, from out the depths of the 
forest, there is something peculiarly weird and monk- 
ish about it. Wordsworth's lines upon the European 
Bpecies apply equally well to ours : — 

" blithe new-comer ! I have heard, 
I hear thee and rejoice : 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 23 

O cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird ? 
Or but a wandering voice ? 

While I am lying on the grass, 

Thy loud note smites my ear ! 
From hill to hill it seems to pass, 

At once far off and near ! 



" Thrice welcome, darling of the spring ! 
Even yet thou art to me 
No bird, but an invisible thing, 
A voice, a mystery." 

The black-billed is the only species found in my 
locality, the yellow-billed abounds farther south. 
Their note or call is nearly the same. The former 
sometimes suggests the voice of a turkey. The call 
of the latter may be suggested thus : k-k-k-k-k-kow, 
how, kow-ow, Jcow-ow. 

The yellow-billed will take up his stand in a tree, 
and explore its branches till he has caught every 
worm. He sits on a twig, and with a peculiar sway- 
ing movement of his head examines the surrounding 
foliage. When he discovers his prey, he leaps upon 
it in a fluttering manner. 

In June the black-billed makes a tour through the 
orchard and garden, regaling himself upon the 
canker-worms. At this time he is one of the tamest 
of birds, and will allow you to approach within a 
few yards of him. I have even come within a few 
feet of one without seeming to excite his fear or sus- 
picion. He is quite unsophisticated, or else royally 
'ndifferent. 



24 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

The plumage of the cuckoo is a rich glossy browD, 
and is unrivaled in beauty by any other neutral tint 
with which I am acquainted. It is also remarkable 
for its firmness and fineness. 

Notwithstanding the disparity in size and color, 
the black-billed species has certain peculiarities that 
remind one of the passenger-pigeon. His eye, with 
its red circle, the shape of his head, and his motions 
pn alighting and taking flight, quickly suggest the 
resemblance ; though in grace and speed, when on 
fhe wing, he is far inferior. His tail seems dispro- 
portionately long, like that of the red thrush, and 
pis flight among the trees is very still, contrasting 
strongly with the honest clatter of the robin or 
pigeon. 

Have you heard the song of the field-sparrow? 
j{ you have lived in a pastoral country with broad 
upland pastures, you could hardly have missed him. 
iVilson, I believe, calls him the grass-finch, and was 
evidently unacquainted with his powers of song. 
$he two white lateral quills in his tail, and his habit 
(jf running and skulking a few yards in advance of 
v ou as you walk through the fields, are sufficient to 
identify him. Not in meadows or orchards, but in 
high, breezy pasture-grounds, will you look for him. 
[lis song is most noticeable after sundown, when 
other birds are silent; for which reason he has been 
8 ptly called the vesper- sparrow. The farmer follow- 
ing nis team from the field at dusk catches his sweet- 
est strain. His song is not so brisk and varied as 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 



25 



that of the song-sparrow, being softer and wilder, 
sweeter and more plaintive. Add the best parts of 
the lay of the latter to the sweet vibrating chant of 
the wood-sparrow, and you have the evening hymn 
of the vesper-bird, — the poet of the plain, un- 
adorned pastures. Go to those broad, smooth, up- 
lying fields where the cattle and sheep are grazing, 
and sit down in the twilight on one of those warm, 
clean stones, and listen to this song. On every side, 
near and remote, from out the short grass which the 
herds are cropping, the strain rises. Two or three 
long, silver notes of peace and rest, ending in some 
subdued trills and quavers, constitute each separate 
song. Often you will catch only one or two of the 
bars, the breeze having blown the minor part away. 
Such unambitious, quiet, unconscious melody ! It is 
one of the most characteristic sounds in Nature. 
The grass, the stones, the stubble, the furrow, the 
quiet herds, and the warm twilight among the hills, 
are all subtilely expressed in this song ; this is what 
they are at last capable of. 

The female builds a plain nest in the open field, 
without so much as a bush or thistle or tuft of grass 
to protect it or mark its site ; you may step upon it 
or the cattle may tread it into the ground. But the 
danger from this source, I presume, the bird consid- 
ers less than that from another. Skunks and foxes 
have a very impertinent curiosity, as Finchie well 
knows, — and a bank or hedge, or a rank growth of 
grass or thistles, that might promise protection and 



26 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

cover to mouse or bird, these cunning rogues would 
be apt to explore most thoroughly. The partridge is 
undoubtedly acquainted with the same process of rea- 
soning ; for, like the vesper-bird, she, too, nests in 
open, unprotected places, avoiding all show of con- 
cealment, — coming from the tangled and almost im- 
penetrable parts of the forest, to the clean, open 
woods, where she can command all the approaches 
and fly with equal ease in any direction. 

Another favorite sparrow, but little noticed, is the 
wood or bush sparrow, usually called by the ornith- 
ologists Spizella pusilla. Its size and form is that of 
the socialis, but is less distinctly marked, being of a 
duller redder tinge. He prefers remote bushy 
heathery fields, where his song is one of the sweetest 
to be heard. It is sometimes very noticeable, es- 
pecially early in spring. I remember sitting one 
bright day in the still leafless April woods, when one 
of these birds struck up a few rods from me, repeat- 
ing its lay at short intervals for nearly an hour. It 
was a perfect piece of wood-music, and was of course 
all the more noticeable for being projected upon such 
a broad unoccupied page of silence. Its song is like 
the words, fe-o, fe-o, fe-o, few, few, few, fee fee fee, 
uttered at first high and leisurely, but running very 
rapidly toward the close, which is low and soft. 

Still keeping among the unrecognized, the white- 
eyed vireo, or fly-catcher, deserves particular men- 
tion. The song of this bird is not particularly sweet 
and soft ; on the contrary, it is a little hard and shrill, 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 27 

like that of the indigo-bird or oriole ; but for bright- 
ness, volubility, execution, and power of imitation, 
he is unsurpassed by any of our northern birds. His 
ordinary note is forcible and emphatic, but, as stated, 
not especially musical : Ghick-a-reW-chich, he seems 
to say, hiding himself in the low, dense undergrowth, 
and eluding your most vigilant search, as if playing 
some part in a game. But in July or August, if you 
are on good terms with the sylvan deities, you may 
listen to a far more rare and artistic performance. 
Your first impression will be that that cluster of 
azalea, or that clump of swamp-huckleberry, conceals 
three or four different songsters, each vying with the 
others to lead the chorus. Such a medley of notes, 
snatched from half the songsters of the field and for- 
est, and uttered with the utmost clearness and rapid- 
ity, I am sure you cannot hear short of the haunts 
of the genuine mocking-bird. If not fully and accu- 
rately repeated, there are at least suggested the notes 
of the robin, wren, cat-bird, high-hole, goldfinch, and 
song-sparrow. The pip, pip, of the last is produced 
so accurately that I verily believe it would deceive 
the bird herself ; — and the whole uttered in such 
rapid succession that it seems as if the movement 
that gives the concluding note of one strain must 
form the first note of the next. The effect is very 
rich, and, to my ear, entirely unique. The performer 
is very careful not to reveal himself in the mean 
time ; yet there is a conscious air about the strain 
*hat impresses me with the idea that my presence is 



28 THE RETURN OF THE BIEDS. 

understood and my attention courted. A tone of 
pride and glee, and, occasionally, of bantering jocose- 
ness, is discernible. I believe it is only rarely, and 
when he is sure of his audience, that he displays 
his parts in this manner. You are to look for him, 
not in tall trees or deep forests, but in low, dense 
shrubbery about wet places, where there are plenty 
of gnats and mosquitoes. 

The winter- wren is another marvelous songster, in 
speaking of whom it is difficult to avoid superlatives. 
He is not so conscious of his powers and so ambitious 
of effect as the white-eyed fly-catcher, yet you will not 
be less astonished and delighted on hearing him. He 
possesses the fluency and copiousness for which the 
wrens are noted, and besides these qualities, and 
what is rarely found conjoined with them, a wild, 
sweet, rhythmical cadence that holds you entranced. 
I shall not soon forget that perfect June day, when; 
loitering in a low, ancient hemlock wood, in whose 
cathedral aisles the coolness and freshness seems per- 
ennial, the silence was suddenly broken by a strain 
so rapid and gushing, and touched with such a wild, 
sylvan plaintiveness, that I listened in amazement. 
And so shy and coy was the little minstrel, that I 
came twice to the woods before I was sure to whom 
I was listening. In summer he is one of those birds 
of the deep northern forests, that, like the speckled 
Canada warbler and the hermit-thrush, only the priv- 
ileged ones hear. 

The distribution of plants in a given locality is not 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 29 

more marked and defined than that of the birds. Show 
a botanist a landscape, and he will tell you where to 
look for the lady's-slipper, the columbine, or the 
harebell. On the same principles the ornithologist 
will direct you where to look for the greenlets, the 
wood-sparrow, or the chewink. In adjoining coun- 
ties, in the same latitude, and equally inland, but 
possessing a different geological formation and differ- 
ent forest-timber, you will observe quite a different 
class of birds. In a land of the beech and sugar- 
maple I do not find the same songsters that I know 
where thrive the oak, chestnut, and laurel. In going 
from a district of the Old Red Sandstone to where I 
walk upon the old Plutonic Rock, not fifty miles dis- 
tant, I miss in the woods the veery, the hermit- 
thrush, the chestnut-sided warbler, the blue-backed 
warbler, the green-backed warbler, the black and yel- 
low warbler, and many others, and find in their stead 
the wood-thrush, the chewink, the redstart, the yel- 
low-throat, the yellow-breasted fly-catcher, the white- 
eyed fly-catcher, the quail, and the turtle-dove. 

In ray neighborhood here in the Highlands the 
distribution is very marked. South of the village I 
invariably find one species of birds, north of it an- 
other. In only one locality, full of azalea and swamp- 
huckleberry, I am always sure of finding the hooded 
warbler. In a dense undergrowth of spice-bush, 
witch-hazel, and alder, I meet the worm-eating war- 
bler. In a remote clearing, covered with heath and 
fern, with here and there a chestnut and an oak, I go 



30 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

to hear in July the wood-sparrow, and returning by 
a stumpy, shallow pond, I am sure to find the water- 
thrush. 

Only one locality within my range seems to pos- 
sess attractions for all comers. Here one may study 
almost the entire ornithology of the State. It is a 
rocky piece of ground, long ago cleared, but now fast 
relapsing into the wildness and freedom of nature, 
and marked by those half-cultivated, half- wild feat- 
ures which birds and boys love. It is bounded on 
two sides by the village and highway, crossed at va- 
rious points by carriage-roads, and threaded in all di- 
rections by paths and by-ways, along which soldiers, 
laborers, and truant school-boys are passing at all 
hours of the day. It is so far escaping from the axe 
and the bush-hook as to have opened communication 
with the forest and mountain beyond by ' straggling 
lines of cedar, laurel, and blackberry. The ground 
is mainly occupied with cedar and chestnut, with an 
undergrowth, in many places, of heath and bramble. 
The chief feature, however, is a dense growth in the 
centre, consisting of dogwood, water-beech, swamp- 
ash, alder, spice-bush, hazel, etc., with a net- work, of 
smilax and frost-grape. A little zigzag stream, the 
draining of a swamp beyond, which passes through 
this tangle-wood, accounts for many of its features 
and productions, if not for its entire existence. Birds 
that are not attracted by the heath or the cedar and 
chestnut, are sure to find some excuse for visiting this 
miscellaneous growth in the centre. Most of the 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 



31 



common birds literally throng this idle-wild ; and I 
have met here many of the rarer species, such as the 
great-crested fly-catcher, the solitary warbler, the 
blue-winged swamp-warbler, the worm-eating warbler, 
the fox-sparrow, etc. The absence of all birds of 
prey, and the great number of flies and insects, both 
the result of proximity to the village, are considera- 
tions which no hawk-fearing, peace-loving minstrel 
passes over lightly ; hence the popularity of the re- 
sort. 

But the crowning glory of all these robins, fly- 
catchers, and warblers is the wood-thrush. More 
abundant than all other birds, except the robin and 
cat-bird, he greets you from every rock and shrub. 
Shy and reserved when he first makes his appearance 
in May, before the end of June he is tame and fa- 
miliar, and sings on the tree over your head, or on the 
rock a few paces in advance. A pair even built their 
nest and reared their brood within ten or twelve feet 
of the piazza of a large summer-house in the vicinity. 
But when the guests commenced to arrive and the 
piazza to be thronged with gay crowds, I noticed 
something like dread and foreboding in the manner 
of the mother-bird ; and from her still, quiet ways, 
and habit of sitting long and silently within a few 
feet of the precious charge, it seemed as if the dear 
creature had resolved, if possible, to avoid all obser- 
vation. 

If we take the quality of melody as the test, the 
wood-thrush, hermit-thrush, and the veery-thrush, 
stand at the head of our list of songsters. 



32 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

The mocking-bird undoubtedly possesses the great- 
est range of mere talent, the most varied executive 
ability, and never foils to surprise and delight one 
anew at each hearing ; but being mostly an imitator, 
he never approaches the serene beauty and sublimity 
of the hermit-thrush. The word that best expresses 
my feelings, on hearing the mocking-bird, is admira- 
tion, though the first emotion is one of surprise and 
incredulity. That so many and such various notes 
should proceed from one throat is a marvel, and we 
regard the performance with feelings akin to those 
we experience on witnessing the astounding feats of 
the athlete or gymnast, — and this, notwithstanding 
many of the notes imitated have all the freshness 
and sweetness of the originals. The emotions excited 
by the songs of these thrushes belong to a higher 
order, springing as they do from our deepest sense of 
the beauty and harmony of the world. 

The wood-thrush is worthy of all, and more than 
all, the praises he has received ; and considering the 
number of his appreciative listeners, it is not a little 
surprising that his relative and equal, the hermit- 
thrush, should have received so little notice. Both 
the great ornithologists, Wilson and Audubon, are 
lavish in their praises of the former, but have little or 
nothing to say of the song of the latter. Audubon 
says it is sometimes agreeable, but evidently has never 
heard it. Nuttall, I am glad to find, is more discrim- 
inating, and does the bird fuller justice. 

It is quite a rare bird, of very shy and secluded 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 33 

habits, being found in the Middle and Eastern States, 
during the period of song, only in the deepest and 
most remote forests, usually in clamp and swampy 
localities. On this account the people in the Adiron- 
dac region call it the " Swamp Angel." Its being 
so much of a recluse accounts for the comparative ig- 
norance that prevails in regard to it. 

The cast of its song is very much like that of the 
wood-thrush, and a good observer might easily con- 
found the two. But hear them together and the dif- 
ference is quite marked : the song of the hermit is in 
a higher key, and is more wild and ethereal. His 
instrument is a silver horn which he winds in the 
most solitary places. The song of the wood-thrush 
is more golden and leisurely. Its tone comes near to 
that of some rare stringed instrument. One feels 
that perhaps the wood-thrush has more compass and 
power, if he would only let himself out, but on the 
whole he comes a little short of the pure, serene, 
hymn -like strain of the hermit. 

Yet those who have heard only the wood-thrush 
may well place him first on the list. He is truly a 
royal minstrel, and considering his liberal distribu- 
tion throughout our Atlantic seaboard, perhaps con- 
tributes more than any other bird to our sylvan mel- 
ody. One may object that he spends a little too 
much time in tuning his instrument, yet his careless 
and uncertain touches reveal its rare compass and 
power. 

He is the only songster of my acquaintance, ex- 



84 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS 

«*• «*„„„. X<,° IT , ■ 8, "* , '<•« 

overtures wonM fc • f Sudden ' ecstatic 

eo.,,1 « if e, egance of manner he has no 

K eattnd £* **- "* «* -* ^ 

carriage Vs P ' D ^ WOrd and d eed. His 

carnage is mnsie to the eve W;„ * 

the commonest act ». , u P«*™ance of 

a worm from e 1 T T^""? * ^ or Picking 
eJoonence £ ^ ^ .^ ' « st ^ of wit of 
do the re.a] , a ce and n ^ the ^ time > and 

transform^io; W ^t r;:S' aC " ,ere t0 him iD his 
How piain, yet ,J£ J** I^T" ^ ' 
■* back, the clear white of h ]7l g ' """^ ° f 

«** heart-shaped^ s X ' ? m '' ^ ^ *" 
Robin that he is noii i i 7 be ° b -' ected to 

is noisy and demonstrative ; he hurne. 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 35 

away or rises to a branch with an angry note, and 
flirts his wings in ill-bred suspicion. The mavis, or 
red-thrush, sneaks and skulks like a culprit, hiding in 
the densest alders ; the cat-bird is a coquette and a 
flirt, as well as a sort of female Paul Pry ; and the 
chewink shows his inhospitality by espying your 
movements like a Japanese. The wood-thrush has 
none of these under-bred traits. He regards me 
unsuspiciously, or avoids me with a noble reserve, — 
or, if I am quiet and incurious, graciously hops to- 
ward me, as if to pay his respects, or to make my ac- 
quaintance. I have passed under his nest within a 
few feet of his mate and brood, when he sat near by 
on a branch eying me sharply, but without opening 
his beak ; but the moment I raised my hand toward 
his defenseless household his anger and indignation 
were beautiful to behold. 

What a noble pride he has ! Late one October, 
after his mates and companions had long since gone 
south, I noticed one for several successive days in the 
dense part of this next-door wood, flitting noiselessly 
about, very grave and silent, as if doing penance for 
some violation of the code of honor. By many gen- 
tle, indirect approaches, I perceived that part of his 
tail-feathers were undeveloped. The sylvan prince 
could not think of returning to court in this plight, 
and so, amid the falling leaves and cold rains of 
autumn, was patiently biding his time. 

The soft, mellow flute of the veery fills a place in 
the chorus of the woods that the song of the vesper- 



1882 



A^ 



j 



36 THE EETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

sparrow fills in the chorus of the fields. It has the 
the nightingale's habit of singing in the twilight, as 
indeed have all our thrushes. Walk out toward the 
forest in the warm twilight of a June day, and when 
fifty rods distant you will hear their soft, reverberat- 
ing notes, rising from a dozen different throats. 

It is one of the simplest strains to be heard, — as 
simple as the curve in form, delighting from the pure 
element of harmony and beauty it contains, and not 
from any novel or fantastic modulation of it, — thus 
contrasting strongly with such rollicking, hilarious 
songsters as the bobolink, in whom we are chiefly 
pleased with the tintinnabulation, the verbal and la- 
bial excellence, and the evident conceit and delight of 
the performer. 

I hardly know whether I am more pleased or an- 
noyed with the cat-bird. Perhaps she is a little too 
common, and her part in the general chorus a little 
too conspicuous. If you are listening for the note of 
another bird, she is sure to be prompted to the most 
loud and protracted singing, drowning all other 
sounds ; if you sit quietly down to observe a favorite 
or study a new-comer, her curiosity knows no 
bounds, and you are scanned and ridiculed from 
' every point of observation. Yet I would not miss 
her ; I would only subordinate her a little, make her 
less conspicuous. 

She is the parodist of the woods, and there is ever 
a mischievous, bantering, half-ironical undertone in 
her lay, as if she were conscious of mimicking and 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 37 

disconcerting some envied songster. Ambitious of 
song, practicing and rehearsing in private, she yet 
seems the least sincere and genuine of the sylvan 
minstrels, as if she had taken up music only to be in 
the fashion, or not to be outdone by the robins and 
thrushes. In other words, she seems to sing from 
some outward motive, and not from inward joyous- 
ness. She is a good versifier, but not a great poet. 
Vigorous, rapid, copious, not without fine touches, 
but destitute of any high, serene melody, her per- 
formance, like that of Thoreau's squirrel, always im- 
plies a spectator. 

There is a certain air and polish about her strain, 
however, like that in the vivacious conversation of a 
well-bred lady of the world, that commands respect. 
Her maternal instinct, also, is very strong, and that 
simple structure of dead twigs and dry grass is the 
centre of much anxious solicitude. Not long since, 
while strolling through the woods, my attention was 
attracted to a small densely grown swamp, hedged in 
with eglantine, brambles, and the everlasting smilax, 
from which proceeded loud cries of distress and alarm, 
indicating that some terrible calamity was threaten- 
ing my sombre-colored minstrel. On effecting an en- 
trance, which, however, was not accomplished till I 
had doffed coat and hat, so as to diminish the surface 
exposed to the thorns and brambles, and looking 
around me from a square yard of terra firma, I found 
myself the spectator of a loathsome, yet fascinating 
scene. Three or four yards from me was the nest, 



38 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

beneath which, in long festoons, rested a huge black 
snake ; a bird two thirds grown, was slowly disap- 
pearing between his expanded jaws. As he seemeO 
unconscious of my presence, I quietly observed the 
proceedings. By slow degrees he compassed the bird 
about with his elastic mouth ; his head flattened, his 
neck writhed and swelled, and two or three undula- 
tory movements of his glistening body finished the 
work. Then, he cautiously raised himself up, his 
tongue flaming from his mouth the while, curved over 
the nest, and, with wavy, subtle motions, explored 
the interior. I can conceive of nothing more over- 
poweringly terrible to an unsuspecting family of 
birds than the sudden appearance above their domi- 
cile of the head and neck of this arch-enemy. It is 
enough to petrify the blood in their veins. Not find- 
ing the object of his search, he came streaming down 
from the nest to a lower limb, and commenced ex- 
tending his researches in other directions, sliding 
stealthily through the branches, bent on capturing 
one of the parent birds. That a legless, wingless 
creature should move with such ease and rapidity 
where only birds and squirrels are considered at 
home, lifting himself up, letting himself down, run- 
ning out on the yielding boughs, and traversing with 
marvelous celerity the whole length and breadth of 
the thicket, was truly surprising. One thinks of the 
great myth, of the Tempter and the " cause of all our 
woe," and wonders if the Arch One is not now play- 
'ng off some of his pranks before him. Whether we 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. qQ 

call it snake or devil matters little. I could but ad- 
mire his terrible beauty, however ; his black, shining 
folds, his easy, gliding movement, head erect, eyes 
glistening, tongue playing like subtle flame, and the 
invisible means of his almost winged locomotion. 

The parent birds, in the mean while, kept up the 
most agonizing cry, — at times fluttering furiously 
about their pursuer, and actually laying hold of his 
tail with their beaks and claws. On being thus at- 
tacked, the snake would suddenly double upon him- 
self and follow his own body back, thus executing a 
strategic movement that at first seemed almost to 
paralyze his victim and place her within his grasp. 
Not quite, however. Before his jaws could close 
upon the coveted prize the bird would tear herself 
away, and, apparently faint and sobbing, retire to a 
higher branch. His reputed powers of fascination 
availed him little, though it is possible that a frailer 
and less combative bird might have been held by the 
fatal spell. Presently, as he came gliding down the 
slender body of a leaning alder, his attention was at- 
tracted by a slight movement of my arm ; eying me 
an instant, with that crouching, utter, motionless gaze 
^hich I believe only snakes and devils can assume, 
he turned quickly, — a feat which necessitated some- 
thing like crawling over his own body, — and glided 
off through the branches, evidently recognizing in me 
a representative of the ancient parties he once so cun- 
ningly ruined. A few moments after, as he lay care- 
^ssly disposed in the top of a rank alder, trying to 



40 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 



look as much like a crooked branch as his supple 
shining form would admit, the old vengeance over- 
took him. I exercised my prerogative, and a well- 
directed missile, in the shape of a stone, brought him 
looping and writhing to the ground. After I had 
completed his downfall and quiet had been partially 
restored, a half-fledged member of the bereaved 
household came out from his hiding-place, and, jump- 
ing upon a decayed branch, chirped vigorously, no 
doubt in celebration of the victory. 

Till the middle of July there is a general equilib- 
rium ; the tide stands poised ; the holiday-spirit is 
unabated. But as the harvest ripens beneath the 
long, hot days, the melody gradually ceases. The 
young are out of the nest and must be cared for, and 
the moulting season is at hand. After the cricket 
has commenced to drone his monotonous refrain be- 
neath your window, you will not, till another season, 
hear the wood-thrush in all his matchless eloquence. 
The bobolink has become careworn and fretful, and 
blurts out snatches of his song between his scolding 
and upbraiding, as you approach the vicinity of his 
nest, oscillating between anxiety for his brood and 
solicitude for his musical reputation. Some of the 
sparrows still sing, and occasionally across the hot 
fields, from a tall tree in the edge of the forest, comes 
the rich note of the scarlet tanager. This tropical- 
colored bird loves the hottest weather, and I hear him 
even in dog-days. 

The remainder of the summer is the carnival of 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 41 

the swallows and fly-catchers. Flies and insects, to 
any amount, are to be had for the catching ; and the 
opportunity is well improved. See that sombre, 
ashen-colored pewee on yonder branch. A true 
sportsman he, who never takes his game at rest, but 
always on the wing. You vagrant fly, you purblind 
moth, beware how you come within his range ! Ob- 
serve his attitude, the curious movement of his head, 
his " eye in a fine frenzy rolling, glancing from heaven 
to earth, from earth to heaven." 

His sight is microscopic and his aim sure. Quick 
as thought he has seized his victim and is back to his 
perch. There is no strife, no pursuit, — one fell 
swoop and the matter is ended. That little sparrow, 
as you will observe, is less skilled. It is the Socialis, 
and he finds his subsistence properly in various seeds 
and the larvae of insects, though he occasionally has 
higher aspirations, and seeks to emulate the pewee, 
commencing and ending his career as a fly-catcher by 
an awkward chase after a beetle or " miller." He is 
hunting around in the grass now, I suspect, with the 
desire to indulge this favorite whim. There ! — the 
opportunity is afforded him. Away goes a little 
cream-colored meadow-moth in the most tortuous 
course he is capable of, and away goes Socialis in 
pursuit. The contest is quite comical, though I dare 
say it is serious enough to the moth. The chase con- 
tinues for a few yards, when there is a sudden rushing 
to cover in the grass, — then a taking to wing again, 
when the search has become too close, and the moth 



42 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

has recovered his wind. Socialis chirps angrily, and 
is determined not to be beaten. Keeping, with the 
slightest effort, upon the heels of the fugitive, he is 
ever on the point of halting to snap him up, but never 
quite does it, — and so, between disappointment and 
expectation, is soon disgusted, and returns to pursue 
his more legitimate means of subsistence. 

In striking contrast to this serio-comic strife of the 
sparrow and the moth, is the pigeon-hawk's pursuit 
of the sparrow or the goldfinch. It is a race of sur- 
prising speed and agility. It is a test of wing and 
wind. Every muscle is taxed, and every nerve 
strained. Such cries of terror and consternation on 
the part of the bird, tacking to the right and left, and 
making the most desperate efforts to escape, and such 
silent determination on the part of the hawk, pressing 
the bird so closely, flashing and turning and timing 
his movements with those of the pursued as accurately 
and as inexorably as if the two constituted one body, 
excite feelings of the deepest concern. You mount 
the fence or rush out of your way to see the issue. 
The only salvation for the bird is to adopt the tactics 
of the moth, seeking instantly the cover of some tree, 
bush, or hedge, where its smaller size enables it to 
move about more rapidly. These pirates are aware 
of this, and therefore prefer to take their prey by one 
fell swoop. You may see one of them prowling 
through an orchard, with the yellow-birds hovering 
about him, crying, Pi-ty, pi-ty, in the most despond- 
vng tone ; yet he seems not to regard them, knowing, 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 43 

as do they, that in the close branches they are as safe 
as if in a wall of adamant. 

August is the month of the high sailing hawks. 
The hen-hawk is the most noticeable. He likes the 
haze and calm of these long, warm days. He is a 
bird of leisure, and seems always at his ease. How 
beautiful and majestic are his movements ! So self- 
poised and easy, such an entire absence of haste, such 
a magnificent amplitude of circles and spirals, such a 
haughty, imperial grace, and, occasionally, such daring 
aerial evolutions ! 

With slow, leisurely movement, rarely vibrating 
his pinions, he mounts and mounts in an ascending 
spiral till he appears a mere speck against the sum- 
mer sky ; then, if the mood seizes him, with wings 
half-closed, like a bent bow, he will cleave the air 
almost perpendicularly, as if intent on dashing him- 
self to pieces against the earth; but on nearing the 
ground, he suddenly mounts again on broad, ex- 
panded wing, as if rebounding upon the air, and sails 
leisurely away. It is the sublimest feat of the sea- 
son. One holds his breath till he sees him rise 
again. 

If inclined to a more gradual and less precipitous 
descent, he fixes his eye on some distant point in the 
earth beneath him, and thither bends his course. He 
is still almost meteoric in his speed and boldness. 
You see his path down the heavens, straight as a 
#ne ; if near, you hear the rush of his wings ; his 
shadow hurtles across the fields, and in an instant 



44 THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 

you see him quietly perched upon some low tree or 
deca} r ed stub in a swamp or meadow, with reminis- 
cences of frogs and mice stirring in his maw. 

When the south wind blows, it is a study to see 
three or four of these air-kings at the head of the 
valley far up toward the mountain, balancing and os- 
cillating upon the strong current : now quite station- 
ary, except a slight tremulous motion like the poise 
of a rope-dancer, then rising and falling in long undu- 
lations, and seeming to resign themselves passively 
to the wind ; or, again, sailing high and level far 
above the mountain's peak, no bluster and haste, but. 
as stated, occasionally a terrible earnestness and 
speed. Fire at one as he sails overhead, and, unless 
wounded badly he will not change his course or gait. 

His flight is a perfect picture of repose in motion. 
It strikes the eye as more surprising than the flight 
of the pigeon and swallow even, in that the effort put 
forth is so uniform and delicate as to escape observa- 
tion, giving to the movement an air of buoyancy and 
perpetuity, the effluence of power rather than the con- 
scious application of it. 

The calmness and dignity of this hawk, when at- 
tacked by crows or the king-bird, are well worthy of 
him. He seldom deigns to notice his noisy and fu- 
rious antagonists, but deliberately wheels about in 
that aerial spiral, and mounts and mounts till his 
pursuers grow dizzy and return to earth again. It is 
quite original, this mode of getting rid of an unworthy 
opponent, rising to heights where the braggart is 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 



45 



dazed and bewildered and loses his reckoning ! I am 
not sure but it is worthy of imitation. 

But summer wanes, and autumn approaches. The 
songsters of the seed-time are silent at the reaping of 
the harvest. Other minstrels take up the strain. It 
is the heyday of insect life. The day is canopied 
with musical sound. All the songs of the spring and 
summer appear to be floating, softened and refined, 
in the upper air. The birds in a new, but less holi- 
day suit, turn their faces southward. The swallows 
flock and go ; the bobolinks flock and go ; silently 
and unobserved, the thrushes go. Autumn arrives, 
bringing finches, warblers, sparrows and kinglets from 
the North. Silently the procession passes. Yonder 
hawk, sailing peacefully away till he is lost in the 
horizon, is a symbol of the closing season and the de- 
parting birds. 




Yellow-billed Cuckoo. 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 



Cat-bird. 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

Most people receive with incredulity a statement 
of the number of birds that annually visit our cli- 
mate. Very few even are aware of half the number 
that spend the summer in their own immediate vicin- 
ity. We little suspect, when we walk in the woods, 
whose privacy we are intruding upon, — what rare 
and elegant visitants from Mexico, from Central and 
South America, and from the islands of the sea, are 
holding their reunions in the branches over our 
heads, or pursuing their pleasure on the ground be- 
fore us. 

I recall the altogether admirable and shining fam- 
ily which Thoreau dreamed he saw in the upper 
chambers of Spaulding's woods, which Spaulding did 
not know lived there, and which were not put out 
4 



50 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

when Spaulding, whistling, drove his team through 
their lower halls. They did not go into society in 
the village ; they were quite well ; they had sons and 
daughters ; they neither wove nor spun ; there was a 
sound as of suppressed hilarity. 

I take it for granted that the forester was only 
saying a pretty thing of the birds, though I have ob- 
served that it does sometimes annoy them when 
Spaulding's cart rumbles through their house. Gen- 
erally, however, they are as unconscious of Spaulding 
as Spaulding is of them. 

Walking the other day in an old hemlock wood, I 
counted over forty varieties of these summer visit- 
ants, many of them common to other woods in the 
vicinity, but quite a number peculiar to these ancient 
solitudes, and not a few that are rare in any locality. 
It is quite unusual to find so large a number abiding 
in one forest, — and that not a large one, — most, of 
them nesting and spending the summer there. Many 
of those I observed commonly pass this season much 
farther north. But the geographical distribution of 
birds is rather a climatical one. The same tempera- 
ture, though under different parallels, usually attracts 
the same birds ; difference in altitude being equiva- 
lent to the difference in latitude. A given height 
above the sea level under the parallel of thirty de- 
grees may have the same climate as places under 
that of thirty-five degrees, and similar Flora and 
Fauna. At the head-waters of the Delaware, where 
I write, the latitude is that of Boston, but the region 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 51 

has a much greater elevation, and hence a climate 
that compares better with the northern part of the 
State and of New England. Half a day's drive to 
the southeast brings me clown into quite a different 
temperature, with an older geological formation, dif- 
ferent forest timber, and different birds ; — even with 
different mammals. Neither the little gray rabbit 
nor the little gray fox is found in my locality, but the 
great northern hare and the red fox. In the last 
century a colony of beavers dwelt here, though the 
oldest inhabitant cannot now point to even the tradi- 
tional site of their dams. The ancient hemlocks, 
whither I propose to take the reader, are rich in 
many things beside birds. Indeed, their wealth in 
this respect is owing mainly, no doubt, to their rank 
vegetable growths, their fruitful swamps, and their 
dark, sheltered retreats. 

Their history is of an heroic cast. Ravished and 
torn by the tanner in his thirst for bark, preyed upon 
by the lumberman, assaulted and beaten back by the 
settler, still their spirit has never been broken, their 
energies never paralyzed. Not many years ago a 
public highway passed through them, but it was at 
no time a tolerable road ; trees fell across it, mud 
and limbs choked it up, till finally travelers took the 
hint and went around ; and now, walking along its 
deserted course, I see only the foot-prints of coons, 
foxes, and squirrels. 

Nature loves such woods, and places her own sea] 
upon them Here she shows me what can be dona 



N 52 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

with ferns and mosses and lichens. The soil is mar- 
rowy and fall of innumerable forests. Standing in 
these fragrant aisles, I feel the strength of the vege- 
table kingdom and am awed by the deep and in- 
scrutable processes of life going on so silently about 
me. 

No hostile forms with axe or spud now visit these 
solitudes. The cows have half-hidden ways through 
them, and know where the best browsing is to be 
had. In spring the firmer repairs to their bordering 
of maples to make sugar; in July and August women 
and boys from all the country about penetrate the 
old Bark-peelings for raspberries and blackberries; 
and I know a youth who wonderingly follows their 
languid stream casting for trout. 

In like spirit, alert and buoyant, on this bright 
June morning go I also to reap my harvest, — pursu- 
ing a sw r eet more delectable than sugar, fruit more 
savory than berries, and game for another palate than 
that tickled by trout. 

June, of all the months, the student of ornithology 
can least afford to lose. Most birds are nesting 
then, and in full song and plumage. And what is a 
bird without its song? Do we not wait for the 
stranger to speak ? It seems to me that I do not 
. know a bird till I have heard its voice ; then I come 
nearer it at once, and it possesses a human interest 
to me. I have met the gray-cheeked thrush (Tur- 
dus alicice) in the woods, and held him in my hand ; 
still I do not know him. The silence of the cedar- 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 53 

bird thjows a mystery about him which neither his 
good looks nor his petty larcenies in cherry time can 
dispel. A bird's song contains a clew to its life, and 
establishes a sympathy, an understanding, between 
itself and the listener. 

I descend a steep hill, and approach the hemlocks 
through a large sugar-bush. When twenty rods dis- 
tant, I hear all along the line of the forest the inces- 
sant warble of the red-eyed fly-catcher ( Vireosylvia 
olivacea), cheerful and happy as the merry whistle of 
a school-boy. He is one of our most common and 
widely distributed birds. Approach any forest at 
any hour of the day, in any kind of weather, from 
May to August, in any of the Middle or Eastern dis- 
tricts, and the chances are that the first note you hear 
will be his. Rain or shine, before noon or after, in 
the deep forest or in the village grove, — when it is 
too hot for the thrushes or too cold and windy for 
the warblers, — it is never out of time or place for 
this little minstrel to indulge his cheerful strain. In 
the deep wilds of the Aclirondac, where few birds 
are seen and fewer heard, his note was almost con- 
stantly in my ear. Always busy, making it a point 
never to suspend for one moment his occupation to in- 
dulge his musical taste, his lay is that of industry and 
contentment. There is nothing plaintive or especially 
musical in his performance, but the sentiment ex 
pressed is eminently that of cheerfulness. Indeed, 
the songs of most birds have some human signifi- 
cance, which, I think, is the source of the delight we 



54 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

take In them. The song of the bobolink to me ex- 
presses hilarity ; the song-sparrow's, faith ; the blue- 
bird's, love ; the cat-bird's, pride ; the white-eyed fly 
catcher's, self-consciousness ; that of the hermit-thrush, 
spiritual-serenity: while there is something military 
in the call of the robin. 

The vireosylvia is classed among the fly-catchers 
by some writers, but is much more of a worm-eater, 
and has few of the traits or habits of the Muscicapa 
or the true Sylvia. He resembles somewhat the 
warbling vireo (Vireo gilvus), and the two birds are 
often confounded by careless observers. Both war- 
ble in the same cheerful strain, but the latter more 
continuously and rapidly. The red-eye is a larger, 
slimmer bird, with a faint bluish crown, and a light 
line over the eye. His movements are peculiar. 
You may see him hopping among the limbs, explor- 
ing the under side of the leaves, peering to the right 
and left, now flitting a few feet, now hopping as 
many, and warbling incessantly, occasionally in a 
subdued tone, which sounds from a very indefinite 
distance. When he has found a worm to his liking, 
he turns lengthwise of the limb, and bruises its head 
with his beak before devouring it. 

As I enter the woods the slate-colored snow-bird 
(Fringilla Hudsonia) starts up before me and chirps 
sharply. -His protest when thus disturbed is almost 
metallic in its sharpness. He breeds here, and is not 
esteemed a snow-bird at all, as he clisaj^pears at the 
near approach of winter, and returns again in spring, 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 55 

like the song-sparrow, and is not in any way associ- 
ated with the cold and the snow. So different are 
the habits of birds in different localities. Even the 
crow does not winter here, and is seldom seen after 
December or before March. 

The snow-bird, or " black chipping-bird," as it is 
known among the farmers, is the finest architect of 
any of the ground-builders known to me. The site 
of its nest is usually some low bank by the road-side 
near a wood. In a slight excavation, with a partially 
concealed entrance, the exquisite structure is placed. 
Horse and cow hair are plentifully used, imparting to 
the interior of the nest great symmetry and firmness 
as well as softness. 

Passing down through the maple arches, barely 
pausing to observe the antics of a x trio of squirrels, — 
two gray ones and a black one, — I cross an an- 
cient brush fence and am fairly within the old hem- 
locks, and in one of the most primitive, undisturbed 
nooks. In the deep moss I tread as with muffled 
feet, and the pupils of my eyes dilate in the dim, al- 
most religious light. The irreverent red squirrels, 
however, run and snicker at my approach, or mock 
the solitude with their ridiculous chattering and frisk- 
ing. 

This nook is the chosen haunt of the winter wren. 
This is the only place and these the only woods in 
which I find him in this vicinity. His voice fills 
these dim aisles, as if aided by some marvelous 
sounding-board. Indeed, his song is very strong for 



56 in the hemlocks. 

so small a bird and unites in a remarkable degree 
brilliancy and plaintiveness. I think of a tremulous 
vibrating tongue of silver. You may know it is the 
song of a wren, from its gushing lyrical character : 
but you must needs look sharp to see the little min- 
strel, especially while in the act of singing. He is 
nearly the color of the ground and the leaves ; he 
never ascends the tall trees, but keeps low, flitting 
from stump to stump and from root to root, dodging 
in and out of his hiding-places, and watching all in- 
truded/with a suspicious eye. He has a very pert, 
almost comical look. His tail stands more than per- 
pendicular : it points straight toward his head. He 
is the least ostentatious singer I know of. He does 
not strike an attitude, and lift up his head in prepara- 
tion, and, as it were, clear his throat ; but sits there 
on a log and pours out his music, looking straight be- 
fore him, or even down at the ground. As a song- 
ster, he has but few superiors. I do not hear him 
after the first week in July. 

While sitting on this soft-cushioned log, tasting 
the pungent acidulous wood-sorrel (Oxalis acetellosa), 
the blossoms of which, large and pink-veined, rise 
everywhere above the moss, a rufous-colored bird 
flies quickly past, and, alighting on a low limb a few 
rods off, salutes me with " Whew ! Whew ! " or 
'' Whoit ! Whoit ! " almost as you would whistle for 
your dog. I see by his impulsive, graceful move- 
ments, and his dimly speckled breast, that it is a 
thrush. Presently he utters a few soft, mellow, flute- 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 57 

like notes, one of the most simple expressions of mel- 
ody to be heard, and sends away, and I see it is the 
veery, or Wilson's thrush. He is the least of the 
thrushes in size, being about that of the common 
bluebird, and he may be distinguished from his rela- 
tives by the dimness of the spots upon his breast. 
The wood-thrush has very clear, distinct oval spots 
on a white ground ; in the hermit, the spots run more 
into lines, on a ground of a faint bluish-white ; in 
veery, the marks are almost obsolete, and a few rods 
off his breast presents only a dull yellowish appear- 
ance. To get a good view of him you have only to 
sit down in his haunts, as in such cases he seems 
equally anxious to get a good view of you. 

From those tall hemlocks proceeds a very fine 
insect-like warble, and occasionally I see a spray 
tremble, or catch the flit of a wing. I watch and 
watch till my head grows dizzy and my neck is in 
danger of permanent displacement, and still do not 
get a good view. Presently the bird darts, or, as it 
seems, falls down a few feet in pursuit of a fly or a 
moth, and I see the whole of it, but in the dim light 
am undecided. It is for such emergencies that I have 
brought my gun. A bird in the hand is worth half 
a dozen in the bush, even for ornithological purposes ; 
and no sure and rapid progress can be made in the 
Uudy without taking life, without procuring speci- 
mens. This bird is a warbler, plainly enough, from 
his habits and manner ; but what kind of warbler ? 
Look on him and name him : a deep orange or flame- 



58 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

colored throat and breast; the same color showing 
also in a line over the eye and in his crown ; back 
variegated black and white. The female is less 
marked and brilliant. The orange-throated warbler 
would seem to be his right name, his characteristic 
cognomen ; but no, he is doomed to wear the name 
of some discoverer, perhaps the first who robbed his 
nest or rifled him of his mate, — Blackburn ; hence, 
Blackburnian warbler. The burn seems appropriate 
enough, for in these dark evergreens his throat and 
breast show like flame. He has a very fine warble, 
suggesting that of the redstart, but not especially 
musical. I find him in no other woods in this vi- 
cinity. 

I am attracted by another warble in the same 
locality, and experience a like difficulty in getting a 
good view of the author of it. It is quite a noticeable 
strain, sharp and sibilant, and sounds well amid the 
old trees. In the upland woods of beech and maple 
it is a more familiar sound than in these solitudes. 
On taking the bird in hand, one cannothelp exclaim- 
ing, " How beautiful 1 " So tiny and elegant, the 
smallest of the warblers ; a delicate blue back, with 
a slight bronze-colored triangular spot between the 
shoulders ; upper mandible black ; lower mandible 
yellow as gold ; throat yellow, becoming a dark 
bronze on the breast. Blue yellow-back he is called, 
though the yellow is much nearer a bronze. He is 
remarkably delicate and beautiful, — the handsomest 
as he is the smallest of the warblers known to me. 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 



59 



It is never without surprise that I find amid these 
rugged, savage aspects of Nature creatures so fairy 
and delicate. Bat such is the law. Go to the sea 
or climb the mountain, and with the rusfo-edest and 
the savagest you will find likewise the fairest and the 
most delicate. The greatness and the minuteness of 
Nature pass all understanding. 

Ever since I entered the woods, even while listen- 
ing to the lesser songsters, or contemplating the silent 
forms about me, a strain has reached my ears from 
out the depths of the forest that to me is the finest 
sound in nature, — the song of the hermit-thrush. I 
often hear him thus a long way off, sometimes over a 
quarter of a mile away, when only the stronger and 
more perfect parts of his music reach me ; and 
through the general chorus of wrens and warblers 
I detect this sound rising pure and serene, as if a 
spirit from some remote height were slowly chanting 
a divine accompaniment. This song appeals to the 
sentiment of the beautiful in me, and suggest? a se- 
rene religious beatitude as no other sound in nature 
does. It is perhaps more of an evening than a morn- 
ing hymn, though I hear it at all hours of the day. 
It is very simple, and I can hardly tell the secret of 
its charm. " O spheral, spheral ! " he seems to say ; 
" O holy, holy ! O clear away, clear away ! clear 
up, clear up ! " interspersed with the finest trills and 
vhe most delicate preludes. It is not a proud, gor- 
geous strain, like the tanager's or the grossbeak's ; 
suggests no passion or emotion, — nothing personal, 



60 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

— but seems to be the voice of that calm sweet so- 
lemnity one attains to in his best moments. It real- 
izes a peace and a deep solemn joy that only the 
finest souls may know. A few nights ago I ascended 
a mountain to see the world by moonlight; and when 
near the summit the hermit commenced his evening 
hymn a few rods from me. Listening to this strain on 
the lone mountain, with the full moon just rounded 
from the horizon, the pomp of your cities and the 
pride of your civilization seemed trivial and cheap. 

I have seldom known two of these birds to be sing- 
ing at the same time in the same locality, rivaling 
each other, like the wood-thrush or theveery. Shoot- 
ing one from a tree, I have observed another take up 
the strain from almost the identical perch in less than 
ten minutes afterward. Later in the day when I 
had penetrated the heart of the old " Barkpeeling," I 
came suddenly upon one singing from a low stump, 
and for a wonder he did not seem alarmed, but lifted 
up his divine voice as if his privacy was undisturbed. 
I open his beak and find the inside yellow as gold. 
I was prepared to find it inlaid with pearls and dia- 
monds, or to see an angel issue from it. 

He is not much in the books. Indeed, I am ac- 
quainted with scarcely any writer on ornithology 
whose head is not muddled on the subject of oui 
three prevailing song-thrushes, confounding either 
their figures or their songs. A writer in the " At- 
lantic " l gravely- tells us the wood-thrush is some- 
1 For December, 1858. 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 61 

times called the hermit, and then, after describing 
the song of the hermit with great beauty and cor- 
rectness, coolly ascribes it to the veery ! The new 
Cyclopeedia, fresh from the study of Audubon, says 
the hermit's song consists of a single plaintive note, 
and that the veery's resembles that of the wood- 
thrush ! These observations deserve to be preserved 
with that of the author of " Out-door Papers," who 
tel]s us the trill of the hair-bird (Fringillia socialis) 
is produced by the bird fluttering its wings upon its 
sides ! The hermit-thrush may be easily identified 
by his color ; his back being a clear olive-brown be- 
coming rufous on his rump and tail. A quill from his 
wing placed beside one from his tail on a dark ground 
presents quite a marked contrast. 

I walk along the old road, and note the tracks in 
the thin layer of mud. When do these creatures 
travel here ? I have never yet chanced to meet one. 
Here a partridge has set its foot ; there, a woodcock ; 
here, a squirrel or mink : there, a skunk ; there, a 
fox. What a clear, nervous track reynard makes ! 
how easy to distinguish it from that of a little dog, — 
it is so sharply cut and defined ! A dog's track is 
coarse and clumsy beside it. There is as much wild- 
ness in the track of an animal as in its voice. Is a 
deer's track like a sheep's or a goat's ? What winged- 
footed fleetness and agility may be inferred from the 
sharp, braided track of the gray squirrel upon the 
new snow ! Ah ! in nature is the best discipline. 
How wood-life sharpen* the senses, giving a new 



62 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

power to the eye, the ear, the nose ! And are not 
the rarest and most exquisite songsters wood-birds ? 

Everywhere in these solitudes I am greeted with 
the pensive, almost pathetic note of the wood-pewee. 
The pewees are the true fly-catchers, and are easily 
identified. They are very characteristic birds, have 
strong family traits, and pugnacious dispositions. 
They are the least attractive or elegant birds of our 
fields or forest. Sharp-shouldered, big-headed, short- 
legged, of no particular color, of little elegance in 
flight or movement, with a disagreeable flirt of the 
tail, always quarreling with their neighbors and with 
one another, no birds are so little calculated to excite 
pleasurable emotions in the beholder, or to become 
objects of human interest and affection. The king- 
bird is the best dressed member of the family, but he 
is a braggart : and, though always snubbing his 
neighbors, is an arrant coward, and shows the white 
feather at the slightest display of pluck in his antag- 
onist. I have seen him turn tail to a swallow, and 
have known the little pewee in question to whip him 
beautifully. From the great crested to the little 
green fly-catcher, their ways and general habits are 
the same. Slow in flying from point to point, they 
yet have a wonderful quickness, and snap up the 
fleetest insects with little apparent effort. There is a 
constant play of quick, nervous movements under- 
neath their outer show of calmness and stolidity. 
They do not scour the limbs and trees like the war- 
blers, but, perched upon the middle branches, wait, 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 63 

like true hunters, for the game to come along. 
There is often a very audible snap of the beak as 
they seize their prey. 

The wood-pewee, the prevailing species in this lo- 
cality, arrests your attention by his sweet, pathetic 
cry. There is room for it also in the deep woods, as 
well as for the more prolonged and elevated strains. 

Its relative, the phoebe-bird, builds an exquisite 
nest of moss on the side of some shelving cliff or 
overhanging rock. The other day, passing by a 
ledge near the top of a mountain in a singularly des- 
olate locality, my eye rested upon one of these struct- 
ures, looking precisely as if it grew there, so in 
keeping was it with the mossy character of the rock, 
and I have had a growing affection for the bird ever 
since. The rock seemed to love the nest and to 
claim it as its own. I said, what a lesson in archi- 
tecture is here ! Here is a house that was built, but 
with such loving care and such beautiful adaptation 
of the means to the end, that it looks like a product 
of nature. The same wise economy is noticeable in 
the nests of all birds. No bird would paint its 
house white or red, or add aught for show. 

At one point in the grayest, most shaggy part of 
the woods, I come suddenly upon a brood of screech- 
owls, full grown, sitting together upon a dry, moss- 
draped limb, but a few feet from the ground. I 
pause within four or five yards of them and am look- 
ing about me, when my eye alights upon these gray, 
motionless figures. -They sit perfectly upright, some 



64 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

with their backs and some with their breasts toward 
me, but every head turned squarely in my direction. 
Their eyes are closed to a mere black line ; through 
this crack they are watching me, evidently thinking 
themselves unobserved. The spectacle is weird and 
grotesque, and suggests something impish and un- 
canny. It is a new effect, the night side of the 
woods by daylight. After observing them a moment 
I take a single step toward them, when, quick as 
thought, their eyes fly wide open, their attitude is 
changed, they bend, some this way, some that, and, 
instinct with life and motion, stare wildly around 
them. Another step, and they all take flight but 
one, which stoops low on the branch, and with the 
look of a frightened cat regards me for a few seconds 
over its shoulder. They fly swiftly and softly, and 
disperse through the trees. I shoot one, which is of 
a tawny red tint, like that figured by Wilson, who 
mistook a young bird for an old one. The old birds 
are a beautiful ashen gray mottled with black. In 
the present instance, they were sitting on the branch 
with the young. 

Coming to a drier and less mossy place in the 
woods, I am amused with the golden-crowned thrush, 
— which, however, is no thrush at all, but a warbler, 
the Sdurus aurocapillus. He walks on the ground 
ahead of me with such an easy gliding motion, and 
with such an unconscious, preoccupied air, jerking his 
head like a hen or a partridge, now hurrying, now 
slackening his pace, that T pause to observe him. If 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 65 

I sit down, he pauses to observe me, and extends his 
pretty ramblings on all sides, apparently very much 
engrossed with his own affairs, but never losing sight 
of me. But few of the birds are walkers, most being 
hoppers, like the robin. 

Satisfied that I have no hostile intentions, the 
pretty pedestrian mounts a limb a few feet from the 
ground, and gives me the benefit of one of his musi- 
cal performances, a sort of accelerating chant. Com- 
mencing in a very low key, which makes him seem 
at a very uncertain distance, he grows louder and 
louder, till his body quakes and his chant runs into a 
shriek, ringing in my ear with a peculiar sharpness. 
This lay may be represented thus : " Teacher teacher, 
teacher, TEACHER, TEACHER!" — the ac- 
cent on the first syllable and each word uttered with 
increased force and shrillness. No writer with whom 
I am acquainted gives him credit for more musical 
ability than is displayed in this strain. Yet in this 
the half is not told. He has a far rarer song, which 
he reserves for some nymph whom he meets in the 
air. Mounting by easy flights to the top of the tall- 
est tree, he launches into the air with a sort of sus- 
pended, hovering flight, like certain of the finches, 
and bursts into a perfect ecstasy of song, — clear, 
ringing, copious, rivaling the goldfinch's in vivacity, 
and the linnet's in melody. This strain is one of the 
rarest bits of bird-melody to be heard, and is oftenest 
indulged in late in the afternoon or after sundown. 
Over the woods, hid from view, the ecstatic singer 



66 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

warbles his finest strain. In this song you instantly 
detect his relationship to the water-wagtail (Sciurus 
noveboracensis) — erroneously called water-thrush, — 
whose song is likewise a sudden burst, full and ring- 
ing, and with a tone of youthful joyousness in it, as 
if the bird had just had some unexpected good fort- 
une. For nearly two years this strain of the pretty 
walker was little more than a disembodied voice to 
me, and I was puzzled by it as Thoreau by his mys- 
terious night-warbler, which, by the way, I suspect 
was no new bird at all, but one he was otherwise 
familiar with. The little bird himself seems disposed 
to keep the matter a secret, and improves every op- 
portunity to repeat before you his shrill, accelerat- 
ing lay, as if this were quite enough and all he laid 
claim to. Still, I trust I am betraying no confidence 
in making the matter public here. I think this is 
preeminently his love-song, as I hear it oftenest 
about the mating season. I have caught half-sup- 
pressed bursts of it from two males chasing each 
other with fearful speed through the forest. 

Turning to the left from the old road, I wander 
over soft logs and gray yielding debris, across the 
little trout brook, until I emerge in the overgrown 
" Barkpeeling," — pausing now and then on the way 
to admire a small, solitary white flower which rises 
above the moss, with radical, heart-shaped leaves, and 
a blossom precisely like the liverwort except in color, 
but which is not put down in my botany, — or to ob- 
serve the ferns, of which I count six varieties, some 
gigantic ones nearly shoulder-high. 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 67 

At the foot of a rough, scraggy yellow birch, on a 
bank of club-moss, so richly inlaid with partridge- 
berry and curious shining leaves, — with here and 
there in the bordering a spire of the false wintergreen 
(Pyrola rotundifolid) strung with faint pink flowers 
and exhaling the breath of a May orchard, — that it 
looks too costly a couch for such an idler, I recline to 
note what transpires. The sun is just past the me- 
ridian, and the afternoon chorus is not yet in full 
tune. Most birds sing with the greatest spirit and 
vivacity in the forenoon, though there are occasional 
bursts later in the day, in which nearly all voices 
join ; while it is not till the twilight that the full 
power and solemnity of the thrush's hymn is felt. 

My attention is soon arrested by a pair of hum- 
ming-birds, the ruby-throated, disporting themselves 
in a low bush a few yards from me. The female 
takes shelter amid the branches, and squeaks exult- 
in gly as the male, circling above, dives down as if to 
dislodge her. Seeing me, he drops like a feather on 
a slender twig, and in a moment both are gone. 
Then, as if by a preconcerted signal, the throats are 
all atune. I lie on my back with eyes half closed, 
and analyze the chorus of warblers, thrushes, finches, 
and fly-catchers ; while, soaring above all, a little 
withdrawn and alone, rises the divine soprano of the 
hermit. That richly modulated warble proceeding 
from the top of yonder birch, and which unpracticed 
ears would mistake for the voice of the scarlet tanager, 
oomes from that rare visitant, the rose-breasted gross- 



68 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

beak. It is a strong, vivacious strain, a bright ruon- 
day song, full of health and assurance, indicating fine 
talents in the performer, but not genius. As I come 
up under the tree he casts his eye down at me, but 
continues his song. This bird is said to be quite com- 
mon in the Northwest, but he is rare in the Eastern 
districts. His beak is disproportionately large and 
heavy, like a huge nose, which slightly mars his good 
looks ; but Nature has made it up to him in a blush 
rose upon his breast, and the most delicate of pink 
linings to the under side of his wings. His back is 
variegated black and white, and when flying low the 
white shows conspicuously. If he passed over your 
head, you would note the delicate flush under his 
wings. 

That bit of bright scarlet on yonder dead hemlock, 
glowing like a live coal against the dark background, 
seeming almost too brilliant for the severe northern 
climate, is his relative, the scarlet tanager. I occa- 
sionally meet him in the deep hemlocks, and know 
no stronger contrast in nature. I almost fear he will 
kindle the dry limb on which he alights. He is quite 
a solitary bird, and in this section seems to prefer the 
high, remote woods, even going quite to the mount- 
ain's top. Indeed, the event of my last visit to the 
mountain was meeting one of these brilliant creatures 
near the summit, in full song. The breeze carried 
the notes far and wide. He seemed to enjoy the ele- 
vation, and I imagined his song had more scope and 
freedom than usual. When he had flown far down 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 69 

,he mountain- side, the breeze still brought me his 
finest notes. In plumage he is the most brilliant bird 
we have. The bluebird is not entirely blue ; nor will 
the indigo-bird bear a close inspection, nor the gold- 
finch, nor the summer redbird. But the tanager loses 
nothing by a near view ; the deep scarlet of his body 
and the black of his wings and tail are quite perfect. 
This is his holiday suit ; in the foil he becomes a dull 
yellowish-green, — the color of the female the whole 
season. 

One of the leading songsters in this choir of the 
old Barkpeeling is the purple finch or linnet. He 
sits somewhat apart, usually on a dead hemlock, and 
warbles most exquisitely. He is one of our finest 
songsters, and stands at the head of the finches, as 
the hermit at the head of the thrushes. His song 
approaches an ecstasy, and, with the exception of the 
winter-wren's, is the most rapid and copious strain to 
be heard in these woods. It is quite destitute of the 
trills and the liquid, silvery, bubbling notes that char- 
acterize the wren's ; but there runs through it a 
round, richly modulated whistle, very sweet and very 
pleasing. The call of the robin is brought in at a 
certain point with marked effect, and, throughout, 
the variety is so great and the strain so rapid that 
the impression is as of two or three birds singing at 
the same time. He is not common here, and I only 
find him in these or similar woods. His color is pe- 
culiar, and looks as if it might have been imparted 
'w dipping a brown bird in diluted pokeberry juice. 



^ 70 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

Two or three more dippings would have made the 
purple complete. The female is the color of the 
song-sparrow, a little larger, with heavier beak, and 
tail much more forked. 

In a little opening quite free from brush and trees, 
I step down to bathe my hands in the brook, when a 
small, light slate-colored bird flutters out of the bank, 
not three feet from my head, as I stoop down, and, 
as if severely lamed or injured, flutters through the* 
grass and into the nearest bush. As I do not follow^ 
but remain near the nest, she chips sharply, which 
brings the male, and I see it is the speckled Canada 
warbler. I find no authority in the books for this 
bird to build upon the ground, yet here is the nest, 
made chiefly of dry grass, set in a slight excavation 
in the bank, not two feet from the water, and looking 
a little perilous to anything but ducklings or sand- 
pipers. There are two young birds and one little 
speckled egg, just pipped. But how is this ? what 
mystery is here ? One nestling is much larger than 
the other, monopolizes most of the nest, and lifts its 
open mouth far above that of its companion, though 
obviously both are of the same age, not more than a 
day old. Ah ! I see ; the old trick of the cow-bunt- 
ing, with a stinging human significance. Taking the 
interloper by the nape of the neck, I deliberately 
drop it into the water, but not without a pang, as I 
Bee its naked form, convulsed with chills, float down 
stream. Cruel ? So is Nature cruel. I take one 
life to save two. Tn less than two days this pot- 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 71 

bellied intruder would have caused the death of the 
two rightful occupants of the nest ; so I step in and 
turn things into their proper channel again. 

It is a singular freak of Nature, this instinct which 
prompts one bird to lay its eggs in the nests of others, 
and thus shirk the responsibility of rearing its own 
young. The cow-buntings always resort to this cun- 
ning trick ; and when one reflects upon their numbers 
it is evident that these little tragedies are quite fre- 
quent. In Europe the parallel case is that of the 
cuckoo, and occasionally our own cuckoo imposes 
upon a robin or a thrush in the same manner. -The 
cow-bunting seems to have no conscience about the 
matter, and, so far as I have observed, invariably 
selects the nest of a bird smaller than itself. Its egg 
is usually the first to hatch ; its young overreaches all 
the rest when food is brought ; it grows with great 
rapidity, spreads and fills the nest, and the starved 
and crowded occupants soon perish, when the parent 
bird removes their dead bodies, giving its whole 
energy and care to the foster-child. 

The warblers and smaller fly-catchers are generally 
the sufferers, though I sometimes see the slate- 
colored snow-bird unconsciously duped in like man- 
ner ; and the other day, in a tall tree in the woods, I 
discovered the black-throated green-backed warbler 
devoting itself to this dusky, overgrown foundling. 
kn old farmer to whom I pointed out the fact was 
much surprised that such things should happen in his 
woods without his knowledge. 



72 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

These birds may be seen prowling through all 
parts of the woods at this season, watching for an 
opportunity to steal their egg into some nest. One 
da) wh.le setting on a log I saw one moving by 
short flights through the trees and gradually Hear- 
ing the ground. Its movements were hurried and 
stealthy. About fifty yards from me it disappeared 
behind some low brush and had evidently alighted 
upon the ground. 

After waiting a few moments I cautiously walked 
in the direction. When about halfway I accidentally 
made a slight noise, when the bird flew up, and see- 
ing me hurried off out of the woods. Arrived at the 
place, I found a simple nest of dry grass and leaves 
partially concealed under a prostrate branch. I took 
it to be the nest of a sparrow. There were three 
eggs in the nest and one lying about a foot below it 
as if it had been rolled out, as of course it had. It 
suggested the thought that perhaps when the cow- 
bird finds the full complement of eggs in a nest, it 
throws out one and deposits its own instead. I re- 
visited the nest a few days afterward and found an 
egg again cast out, but none had been put in its place. 
The nest had been abandoned by its owner and the 
eggs were stale. 

In all cases where I have found this egg, I have 
observed both male and female of the cow-bird linger- 
ing near, the former uttering his peculiar liquid, glassy 
note from the tops of the trees. 

In July the young, which have been reared in the 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 73 

same neighborhood, and which are now of a dull fawn 
color, begin to collect in small flocks, which grow to 
be quite large in autumn. 

The speckled Canada is a very superior warbler, 
having a lively, animated strain, reminding you of 
certain parts of the canary's though quite broken and 
incomplete ; the bird, the while hopping amid the 
branches with increased liveliness, and indulging in 
fine sibilant chirps, too happy to keep silent. 

His manners are quite marked. He has a habit of 
courtesying when he discovers you, which is very 
pretty. In form he is an elegant bird, somewhat 
slender, his back of a bluish lead-color becoming 
nearly black on his crown : the under part of his 
body, from his throat down, is of a light, delicate yel- 
low, with a belt of black dots across his breast. He 
has a fine eye, surrounded by a light-yellow ring. 

The parent birds are much disturbed by my pres- 
ence, and keep up a loud emphatic chirping, which 
attracts the attention of their sympathetic neighbors, 
and one after another they come to see what has hap- 
pened. The chestnut-sided and the Blackburnian 
come in company. The black-and-yellow warbler 
pauses a moment and hastens away ; the Maryland 
yellow-throat peeps shyly from the lower bushes and 
utters his " Fip ! fip ! " in sympathy ; the wood- 
pewee comes straight to the tree overhead, and the 
red-eyed vireo lingers and lingers, eying me with a 
curious, innocent look, evidently much puzzled. But 
ill disappear again, one by one, apparently without a 



74 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

word of condolence or encouragement to the dis- 
tressed pair. I have often noticed among birds this 
show of sympathy, — if indeed it be sympathy, and 
not merely curiosity, or desire to be forewarned of 
the approach of a common danger. 

An hour afterward I approach the place, find all 
still, and the mother bird upon the nest. As I draw 
near she seems to sit closer, her eyes growing large 
with an inexpressibly wild, beautiful look. She 
keeps her place till I am within two paces of her, 
when she flutters away as at first. In the brief in- 
terval the remaining egg has hatched, and the two 
little nestlings lift their heads without being jostled 
or overreached by any strange bedfellow. A week 
afterward and they were flown away, — so brief is 
the infancy of birds. And the wonder is that they 
escape, even for this short time, the skunks and 
minks and muskrats that abound here, and that have 
a decided partiality for such tidbits. 

I pass on through the old Barkpeeling, now 
threading an obscure cow-path or an overgrown 
wood-road ; now clambering over soft and decayed 
logs, or forcing my way through a net-work of briers 
and hazels ; now entering a perfect bower of wild- 
cherry, beech, and soft-maple ; now emerging into a 
little grassy lane, golden with buttercups or white 
with daisies, or wading waist-deep in the red rasp- 
berry-bushes. 

Whir ! whir ! whir ! and a brood of half-grown 
partridges start up like an explosion, a few paces 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 75 

from me, and, scattering, disappear in the bushes on 
all sides. Let me sit down here behind the screen 
of ferns and briers, and hear this wild-hen of the 
woods call together her brood. At what an early- 
age the partridge flies ! Nature seems to concen- 
trate her energies on the wing, making the safety of 
the bird a point to be looked after first; and while 
the body is covered with down, and no signs of feath- 
ers are visible, the wing-quills sprout and unfold, and 
in an incredibly short. time the young make fair head- 
way in flying. 

The same rapid development of wing may be ob- 
served in chickens and turkeys, but not in water- 
fowls, nor in birds that are safely housed in the nest 
till full-fledged. The other day, by a brook, I came 
suddenly upon a young sandpiper, a most beautiful 
creature, enveloped in a soft gray down, swift and 
nimble and apparently a week or two old, but with 
no signs of plumage either of body or wing. And 
it needed none, for it escaped me by taking to the 
water as readily as if it had flown with wings. 

Hark ! there arises over there in the brush a soft, 
persuasive cooing, a sound so subtle and wild and un- 
obtrusive that it requires the most alert and watchful 
ear to hear it. How gentle and solicitous and full of 
yearning love ! It is the voice of the mother hen. 
Presently a faint timid " Yeap ! " whi-ch almost 
eludes the ear, is heard in various directions, — the 
young responding. As no danger seems near, the 
cooing of the parent bird is soon a very audible 



76 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

clacking call, and the young move cautiously in the 
direction. Let me step never so carefully from my 
hiding-place, and all sounds instantly cease, and I 
search in vain for either parent or young. 

The partridge (Bonasa umbellus) is one of our 
most native and characteristic birds. The woods 
seem good to be in where I find him. He gives a 
habitable air to the forest, and one feels as if the 
righful occupant was really at home. The woods 
where I do not find him seem to want something, as 
if suffering from some neglect of Nature. And then 
he is such a splendid success, so hardy and vigorous. 
I think he enjoys the cold and the snow. His wings 
seem to rustle with more fervency in midwinter. If 
the snow falls very fast, and promises a heavy storm, 
he will complacently sit down and allow himself to 
be snowed under. Approaching him at such times, 
he suddenly bursts out of the snow at your feet, scat- 
tering the flakes in all directions, and goes humming 
away through the woods like a bomb-shell, — a pict- 
ure of native spirit and success. 

His drum is one of the most welcome and beauti- 
ful sounds of spring. Scarcely have the trees ex- 
panded their buds, when, in the still April mornings, 
or toward nightfall, when you hear the hum of his 
devoted wings. He selects not, as you would pre- 
dict, a dry and resinous log, but a decayed and 
crumbling one, seeming to give the preference to old 
oak-logs that are partly blended with the soil. If 
a log to his taste cannot be found he sets up his altar 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 77 

on a rock, which becomes resonant beneath his fer- 
vent blows. Who has seen the partridge drum ? It 
is the next thing to catching a weasel asleep, though 
by much caution and tact it may be done. He does 
not hug the log, but stands very erect, expands his 
ruff, gives two introductory blows, pauses half a sec- 
ond, and then resumes, striking faster and faster till 
the sound becomes a continuous, unbroken whir, the 
whole lasting less than half a minute. The tips of 
his wings barely brush the log, so that the sound is 
produced rather by the force of the blows upon the 
air and upon his own body as in flying. One log 
will be used for many years, though not by the same 
drummer. It seems to be a sort of temple and held 
in great respect. The bird always approaches on 
foot, and leaves it in the same quiet manner, unless 
rudely disturbed. He is very cunning, though his 
wit is not profound. It is difficult to approach him 
by stealth ; you will try many times before succeed- 
ing ; but seem to pass by him in a great hurry, mak- 
ing all the noise possible, and with plumage furled 
he stands as immovable as a knot, allowing you a 
good view and a good shot, if you are a sportsman. 

Passing along one of the old Barkpeelers' roads 
which wander aimlessly about, I am attracted by a 
singularly brilliant and emphatic warble, proceeding 
from the low bushes, and quickly suggesting the voice 
of the Maryland yellow-throat. Presently the singer 
hops up on a dry twig, and gives me a good view. 
Lead-colored head and neck, becoming nearly black 
on the breast ; clear olive-green back, and yellow 



78 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

belly. From his habit of keeping near the ground, 
even hopping upon it occasionally, I know him to be 
a ground-warbler ; from his dark breast the ornithol- 
ogist has added the expletive mourning, hence the 
mourning ground-warbler. 

Of this bird both Wilson and Audubon confessed 
their comparative ignorance, neither ever having seen 
its nest or become acquainted with its haunts and 
general habits. Its song is quite striking and novel, 
though its voice at once su^sjests the class of warblers 
to which it belongs. It is very shy and wary, flying 
but a few feet at a time, and studiously concealing 
itself from your view. I discover but one pair here. 
The female has food in her beak, but carefully avoids 
betraying the locality of her nest. The ground-war- 
blers all have one notable feature, — very beautiful 
legs, as white and delicate as if they had always worn 
silk stockings and satin slippers. High tree warblers 
have dark-brown or black legs and more brilliant 
plumage, but less musical ability. 

The chestnut-sided belongs to the latter class. He 
is quite common in these woods, as in all the woods 
about. He is one of the rarest and handsomest of the 
warblers ; his white breast and throat, chestnut sides, 
and yellow crown show conspicuously. But little is 
known of his habits or haunts. Last year I found 
the nest of one in an uplying beech-wood, in a low 
bush near the road-side, where cows passed and 
browsed daily. Things went on smoothly till the 
cow-bunting stole her egg into it, when other mishaps 
followed, and the nest was soon empty. A character- 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 79 

istic attitude of the male during this season is a slight 
drooping of the wings, and tail a little elevated, which 
gives him a very smart, bantam-like appearance. His 
song is fine and hurried, and not much of itself, but 
has its place in the general chorus. 

A far sweeter strain, falling on the ear with the 
true sylvan cadence, is that of the black-throated 
green-backed warbler, w r hom I meet at various points. 
He has no superiors among the true Sylvia. His 
song is very plain and simple, but remarkably pure 
and tender, and might be indicated by straight lines, 
thus, V ; the first two marks repre- 
senting two sweet, silvery notes, in the same pitch of 
voice, and quite unaccented ; the latter marks, the 
concluding notes, wherein the tone and inflection are 
changed. The throat and breast of the male are a 
rich black like velvet, his face yellow, and his back a 
yellowish green. 

Beyond the Barkpeeling, where the woods are 
mingled hemlock, beech, and birch, the languid mid- 
summer note of the black-throated blue-back falls on 
my ear. " Twea, twea, twea-e-e ! " in the upward 
slide, and with the peculiar z-ing of summer insects, 
but not destitute of a certain plaintive cadence. It 
is one of the most languid, unhurried sounds in all 
the woods. I feel like reclining upon the dry leaves 
at once. Audubon says he has never heard his love- 
*ong ; but this is all the love-song he has, and he is 
evidently a very plain hero with his little brown mis- 
tress. He assumes few attitudes, and is not a bold 
and striking gymnast, like many of his kindred. He 



80 IN THE HEMLOCKS. 

has a preference for dense woods of beech and maple, 
moves slowly amid the lower branches and smaller 
growths, keeping from eight to ten feet from the 
ground, and repeating now and then his listless, indo- 
lent strain. His back and crown are dark bine ; his 
throat and breast, black ; his belly, pure white ; and 
he has a white spot on each wing. 

Here and there I meet the black and white creep- 
ing-warbler, whose fine strain reminds me of hair- 
wire. It is unquestionably the finest bird-song to be 
heard. Few insect strains will compare with it in 
this respect ; while it has none of the harsh, brassy 
character of the latter, being very delicate and tender. 
That sharp, uninterrupted, but still continued war- 
ble, which, before one has learned to discriminate 
closely, he is apt to confound with the red-eyed vireo's, 
is that of the solitary warbling vireo, — a bird slightly 
larger, much rarer, and with a louder, less cheerful 
and happy strain. I see him hopping along length- 
wise of the limbs, and note the orange tinge of his 
breast and sides and the white circle around his eye. 

But the declining sun and the deepening shadows 
admonish me that this ramble must be brought to a 
close, even though only the leading characters in this 
chorus of forty songsters have been described, and 
only a small portion of the venerable old woods ex- 
plored. In a secluded swampy corner of the old 
Barkpeeling, where I find the great purple orchis in 
bloom, and where the foot of man or beast seems 
never to have trod, I linger long, contemplating the 
wonderful display of lichens and mosses that overrun 



IN THE HEMLOCKS. 



81 



both the smaller and the larger growths. Every 
bush and branch and sprig is dressed up in the most 
rich and fantastic of liveries ; and, crowning all, the 
long bearded moss festoons the branches or sways 
gracefully from the limbs. Every twig looks a cent- 
ury old, though green leaves tip the end of it. A 
young yellow birch has a venerable, patriarchal look, 
and seems ill at ease under such premature honors. 
A decayed hemlock is draped as if by hands for some 
solemn festival. 

Mounting toward the upland again, I pause rever- 
ently as the hush and stillness of twilight come upon 
the woods. It is the sweetest, ripest hour of the day. 
And as the hermit's evening hymn goes up from the 
deep solitude below me, I experience that serene ex- 
altation of sentiment of which music, literature, and 
religion are but the faint types and symbols. 







Maryland Yellow-throat. 



ADIRONDAC. 




Golden-crowned Thrush. 



ADIRONDAC. 



When I went to the Adirondacs, which was in 
the summer of 1863, I was in the first flush of my 
ornithological studies, and was curious, above all else, 
to know what birds I should find in these solitudes 
, — what new ones, and what ones already known to 
me. 

In visiting vast, primitive, far-off woods one natu- 
rally expects to find something rare and precious, or 
something entirely new, but it commonly happens 
that one is disappointed. Thoreau made three excur- 
sions into the Maine woods, and though he started 
the moose and caribou, had nothing more novel to 
report by way of bird notes, than the songs of the 
wood-thrush and the pewee. This was about my 
own experience in the Adirondacs. The birds for 
the most part prefer the vicinity of settlements and 



86 ADIRONDAC. 

clearings, and it was at such places that I saw the 
greatest number and variety. 

At the clearing of an old hunter and pioneer by 
the name of Hewett, where we paused a couple of 
days on first entering the woods, I saw many old 
friends and made some new acquaintances. The 
snow-bird was very abundant here, as it had been at 
various points along the route, after leaving Lake 
George. As I went out to the spring in the morn- 
ing to wash myself a purple finch flew up before me, 
having already performed its ablutions. I had first 
observed this bird the winter before in the Highlands 
of the Hudson, where, during several clear but cold 
February mornings, a troop of them sang most charm- 
ingly in a tree in front of my house. The meeting 
with the bird here in its breeding haunts was a pleas- 
ant surprise. During the day I observed several 
pine finches — a dark brown or brindlish bird, allied 
to the common yellow-bird, which it much resembles 
in its manner and habits. They lingered familiarly 
about the house, sometimes alighting in a small tree 
within a few feet of it. In one of the stumpy fields I 
saw an old favorite in the grass finch or vesper spar- 
iow. It was sitting on a tall charred stub with food 
in its beak. But all along the borders of the woods 
and in the bushy parts of the fields there was a new 
song that I was puzzled in tracing to the author. It 
was most noticeable in the morning and at twilight, 
but was at all times singularly secret and elusive. 
I at last discovered that it was the white-throated 



ADIRONDAC. 87 

sparrow, a common bird all through this region. Its 
song is very delicate and plaintive — a thin, waver- 
ing, tremulous whistle, which disappoints one, how- 
ever, as it ends when it seems only to have begun. 
If the bird could give us the finishing strain of which 
this seems only the prelude, it would stand first among 
feathered songsters. 

By a little trout-brook in a low part of the woods 
adjoining the clearing, I had a good time pursuing 
and identifying a number of warblers — the speckled 
Canada, the black-throated blue, the yellow-rumped, 
and Audubon's warbler. The latter, which was lead- 
ing its troop of young through a thick undergrowth 
on the banks of the creek where insects were plenty, 
was new to me. 

It being August, the birds were all moulting and 
sang only fitfully and by brief snatches. I remember 
hearing but one robin during the whole trip. This 
was by the Boreas River in the deep forest. It was 
like the voice of an old friend speaking my name. 

. From Hewett's, after engaging his youngest son, 
— the " Bub " of the family, — a young man about 
twenty and a thorough woodsman, as guide, we took 
to the woods in good earnest, our destination being 
the Stillwater of the Boreas — a long deep dark 
reach in one of the remote branches of the Hudson, 
about six miles distant. Here we paused a couple of 
days, putting up in a dilapidated lumberman's shanty, 
and cooking our fish over an old stove which had 
been left there. The most noteworthv incident of 



88 ADIRONDAC. 

our stay at this point was the taking by myself of 
half a dozen splendid trout out of the Stillwater, after 
the guide had exhausted his art and his patience with 
very insignificant results. The place had a very 
trouty look, but as the season was late and the river 
warm, I knew the fish lay in deep water from which 
they could not be attracted. In deep water accord- 
ingly, and near the head of the hole, I determined to 
look for them. Securing a chub I cut it into pieces 
about an inch long and with these for bait sank my 
hook into the head of the Stillwater and just to one 
side of the main current. In less than twenty min- 
utes I had landed six noble fellows, three of them 
over one foot long each. The guide and my incredu- 
lous companions, who were watching me from the 
opposite shore, seeing my luck, whipped out their 
tackle in great haste and began casting first at a re- 
spectable distance from me, then all about me, but 
without a single catch. My own efforts suddenly 
became fruitless also, but I had conquered the guide 
and thenceforth he treated me with the tone and free- 
dom of a comrade and equal. 

One afternoon we visited a cave some two miles 
down the stream which had recently been discovered. 
We squeezed and wriggled through a big crack or 
cleft in the side of the mountain, for about one hun- 
dred feet, when we emerged into a large dome-shaped 
passage, the abode, during certain seasons of the year, 
of innumerable bats, and at all times of primeval 
darkness. There were various other crannies and 



ADIRONDAC. 89 

pit-holes opening into it, some of which we explored. 
The voice of running water was everywhere heard, 
betraying the proximity of the little stream by whose 
ceaseless corroding the cave and its entrance had been 
worn. This streamlet flowed out of the mouth of the 
cave and came from a lake on the top of the mount- 
ain ; this accounted for its warmth to the hand which 
surprised us all. 

Birds of any kind were rare in these woods. A 
pigeon-hawk came prowling by our camp, and the 
faint piping call of the nut-hatches, leading their 
young through the high trees was often heard. 

On the third day our guide proposed to conduct us 
to a lake in the mountains where we could float for 
deer. 

Our journey commenced in a steep and rugged as- 
cent, which brought us after an hour's heavy climb- 
ing, to an elevated region of pine forest, years before 
ravished by lumbermen, and presenting all manner 
of obstacles to our awkward and encumbered pedes- 
trianism. The woods were largely pine, though 
yellow birch, beech, and maple were common. The 
satisfaction of having a gun, should any game show 
itself, was the chief compensation to those of us who 
were thus burdened. A partridge would occasionally 
whir up before us, or a red squirrel snicker and hasten 
to his den ; else the woods appeared quite tenantless. 
The most noted object was a mammoth pine, appar- 
ently the last of a great race, which presided over a 
cluster of yellow birches, on the side of the mountain. 



90 ADIRONDAC. 

About noon we came out upon a long shallow sheet 
of water which the guide called Bloody-Moose Pond, 
from the tradition that a moose had been slaughtered 
there many years before. Looking out over the si- 
lent and lonely scene, his eye was the first to detect 
an object apparently feeding upon lily-pads, which 
our willing fancies readily shaped into a deer. As we 
were eagerly waiting some movement to confirm this 
impression, it lifted up its head, and lo ! a great blue 
heron. Seeing us approach, it spread its long wings 
and flew solemnly across to a dead tree on the other 
side of the lake, enhancing, rather than relieving the 
loneliness and desolation that brooded over the scene. 
As we proceeded it flew from tree to tree in ad- 
vance of us, apparently loath to be disturbed in its 
ancient and solitary domain. In the margin of the 
pond we found the pitcher-plant growing, and here 
and there in the sand the closed gentian lifted up its 
blue head. 

In traversing the shores of this wild, desolate lake, 
was conscious of a slight thrill of expectation, as if 
some secret of Nature might here be revealed, or 
some rare and unheard-of game disturbed. There is 
ever a lurking suspicion that the beginning of things 
is in some way associated with water, and one may 
notice that in his private walks he is led by a curious 
attraction to fetch all the springs and ponds in his 
route, as if by them was the place for wonders and 
miracles to happen. Once, while in advance of my 
companions, I saw, from a high rock, a commotion in 



ADIRONDAC. 



91 



the water near the shore, but on reaching the point 
found only the marks of a musquash. 

Pressing on through the forest, after many advent- 
ures with the pine-knots, we reached, about the mid- 
dle of the afternoon, our destination, Nate's Pond, — - 
a pretty sheet of water, lying like a silver mirror in 
the lap of the mountain, about a mile long and half a 
mile wide, surrounded by dark forests of balsam, 
hemlock, and pine, and, like the one we had just 
passed, a very picture of unbroken solitude. 

It is not in the woods alone to give one this im- 
pression of utter loneliness. In the woods are 
sounds and voices, and a dumb kind of companion- 
ship ; one is little more than a walking tree himself; 
but come upon one of these mountain-lakes, and the 
wildness stands revealed and meets you face to face. 
Water is thus facile and adaptive, that it makes the wild 
more wild, while it enhances culture and art. 

The end of the pond which we approached was 
quite shoal, the stones rising above the surface as in a 
summer-brook, and everywhere showing marks of the 
noble game we were in quest of — foot-prints, dung, 
and cropped and uprooted lily-pads. After resting 
for a half hour, and replenishing our game-pouches 
at the expense of the most respectable frogs of the 
locality, we filed on through the soft, resinous pine- 
woods, intending to camp near the other end of the 
iake, where, the guide assured us, we should find a 
hunter's cabin ready built. A half-hour's march 
brought us to the locality, and a most delightful one 



92 ADIROXDAC. 

it was, — so hospitable and inviting that all the 
kindly and beneficent influences of the woods must 
have abided there. In a slight depression in the 
woods, about one hundred yards from the lake, though 
hidden from it for a hunter's reasons, surrounded by 
a heavy growth of birch, hemlock, and pine, with a 
lining of balsam and fir, the rude cabin welcomed us. 
It was of the approved style, three sides inclosed, 
with a roof of bark and a bed of boughs, and a rock 
in front that afforded a permanent back-log to all 
fires. A faint voice of running water was heard 
near by, and, following the sound, a delicious spring- 
rivulet was disclosed, hidden by the moss and debris 
as by a new fall of snow, but here and there rising 
in little well-like openings, as if for our special con- 
venience. On smooth places on the logs I noticed 
female names inscribed in a female hand ; and the 
guide told us of an English lady, an artist, who had 
traversed this region with a single guide, making 
sketches. 

Our packs unslung and the kettle over, our first 
move was to ascertain in what state of preservation a 
certain dug-out might be, which, the guide averred, 
he had left moored in the vicinity the summer before, 
— for upon this hypothetical dug-out our hopes of 
venison rested. After a little searching it was found 
under the top of a fallen hemlock, but in a sorry con- 
dition. A large piece had been split out of one end, 
and a fearful chink was visible nearly to the water- 
line. Freed from the tree- top, however, and calked 



ADIRONDAC. 93 

with a little moss, it floated with two aboard, which 
was quite enough for our purpose. A jack and an 
oar were necessary to complete the arrangement, and 
before the sun had set our professor of wood-craft 
had both in readiness. From a young yellow birch, 
an oar took shape with marvelous rapidity — trimmed 
and smoothed with a neatness almost fastidious, — no 
make-shift, but an instrument fitted for the delicate 
work it was to perform. 

A jack was made with equal skill and speed. A 
stout staff about three feet long was placed upright 
in the bow of the boat, and held to its place by a 
horizontal bar, through a hole in which it turned 
easily : a half wheel eight or ten inches in diameter, 
cut from a large chip, was placed at the top, around 
which was bent a new section of birch bark, thus 
forming a rude semicircular reflector. Three candles 
placed within the circle completed the jack. With 
moss and boughs seats were arranged — one in the 
bow for the marksman, and one in the stern for the 
oarsman. A meal of frogs and squirrels was a good 
preparation, and when darkness came, all were keenly 
alive to the opportunity it brought. Though by no 
means an expert in the use of the gun, — adding the 
superlative degree of enthusiasm to only the positive 
degree of skill, — yet it seemed tacitly agreed that I 
should act as marksman, and kill the deer, if such 
was to be our luck. 

After it was thoroughly dark we went down to 
make a short trial-trip. Everything working to sat- 



94 ADIKONDAC. 

isfaction, about ten o'clock we pushed out in earnest. 
For the twentieth time I felt in the pocket that con- 
tained the matches, ran over the part I was to per- 
form, and pressed my gun firmly, to be sure there 
was no mistake. My position was that of kneeling 
directly "under the jack, which I was to light at the 
word. The night was clear, moonless, and still. 
Nearing the middle of the lake, a breeze from the 
west was barely perceptible, and noiselessly we glided 
before it. The guide handled his oar with great dex- 
terity ; without lifting it from the water or breaking 
the surface, he imparted the steady, uniform motion 
desired. How silent it was ! The ear seemed the 
only sense, and to hold dominion over lake and for- 
est. Occasionally a lily-pad would brush along the 
bottom, and stooping low I could hear a faint mur- 
muring of the water under the bow : else all was 
still. Then, almost as by magic, we were encom- 
passed by a huge black ring. The surface of the 
lake, when we had reached the centre, was slightly 
luminous from the starlight, and the dark, even for- 
est-line that surrounded us, doubled by reflection in 
the water, presenting a broad, unbroken belt of utter 
blackness. The effect was quite startling, like some 
\iuge conjuror's trick. It seemed as if we had crossed 
ihe boundary-line between the real and the imagin- 
ary, and this was indeed the land of shadows and of 
spectres. What magic oar was that the guide wielded 
that it could transport me to such a realm ! Indeed, 
had I not committed some fatal mistake and left that 



ADIRONDAC. 95 

trusty servant behind, and had not some wizard of 
the night stepped into his place ? A slight splashing 
in-shore broke the spell and caused me to turn nerv- 
ously to the oarsman : " Musquash," said he, and kept 
straight on. 

Nearing the extreme end of the pond, the boat 
gently headed around, and silently we glided back 
into the clasp of that strange orbit. Slight sounds 
were heard as before, but nothing that indicated the 
presence of the game we were waiting for ; and we 
reached the point of departure as innocent of veni- 
son as we had set out. 

After an hour*s delay, and near midnight, we 
pushed out again. My vigilance and susceptibility 
were rather sharpened than dulled by the waiting ; 
and the features of the night had also deepened and 
intensified. Night was at its meridian. The sky 
.iad that soft luminousness which may often be ob- 
served near midnight at this season, and the " large 
few stars " beamed mildly down. We floated out 
into that spectral shadow-land and moved slowly on 
as before. The silence was most impressive. Now 
and then the faint yeap of some traveling bird would 
come from the air overhead, or the wings of a bat 
whisp quickly by, or an owl hoot off in the mount- 
ains, giving to the silence and loneliness a tongue. 
At short intervals some noise in-shore would startle 
me, and cause me to turn inquiringly to the silent 
figure in the stern. 

The end of the lake was reached, and we turned 



96 ADIRONDAC. 

back. The novelty and the excitement began to 
flag ; tired nature began to assert her claims ; the 
movement was soothing, and the gunner slumbered 
fitfully at his post. Presently something aroused 
me. " There 's a deer," whispered the guide. The 
gun heard, and fairly jumped in my hand. Listen- 
ing, there came the cracking of a limb, followed by a 
sound as of something walking in shallow water. It 
proceeded from the other end of the lake, over 
against our camp. On we sped, noiselessly as ever, 
but with increased velocity. Presently, with a thrill 
of new intensity, I saw the boat was gradually head- 
ing in that direction. Now, to a sportsman who gets 
excited over a gray squirrel, and forgets that he has 
a gun on the sudden appearance of a fox, this was a 
severe trial. I felt suddenly cramped for room, and 
trimming the boat was out of the question. It 
seemed that I must make some noise in spite of my- 
self. " Light the jack," said a soft whisper behind 
me. I fumbled nervously for a match, and dropped 
the first one. Another was drawn briskly across my 
knee, and broke. A third lighted, but went out pre- 
maturely, in my haste to get it up to the jack. What 
would I not have given to see those wicks blaze ! 
We were fast nearing the shore, — already the lily- 
pads began to brush along the bottom. Another at- 
tempt, and the light took. The gentle motion fanned 
the blaze, and in a moment a broad glare of light fell 
upon the water in front of us, while the boat re- 
mained in utter darkness. 



ADIRONDAC. 97 

By this time I had got beyond the nervous point, 
and had come round to perfect coolness and com- 
posure again, but preternaturally vigilant and keen* 
I was ready for any disclosures ; not a sound was 
heard. In a few moments the trees along-shore were 
faintly visible. Every object put on the shape of a 
gigantic deer. A large rock looked just ready to 
bound away. The dry limbs of a prostrate tree were 
surely his antlers. 

But what are those two luminous spots ? Need 
the reader to be told what they were ? In a moment 
the head of a real deer became outlined ; then his 
neck and foreshoulders ; then his whole body. There 
he stood, up to his knees in the water, gazing fixedly 
at us, apparently arrested in the movement of putting 
his head down for a lily-pad, and evidently thinking 
it was some new-fangled moon sporting about there. 
" Let him have it," said my prompter, — and the 
crash came. There was a scuffle in the water, and a 
plunge in the woods. " He 's gone," said I. " Wait 
a moment," said the guide, " and I will show you." 
Rapidly running the canoe ashore, we sprang out, 
and holding the jack aloft, explored the vicinity by 
its light. There, over the logs and brush, I caught 
the glimmer of those luminous spots again. But, 
poor thing! there was little need of the second shot, 
which was the unkindest cut of all, for the deer had 
already fallen to the ground, and waTS fast expiring. 
The success was but a very indifferent one, after all, 
is the victim turned out to be only an old doe, upon 



98 ADIROXDAC. 

whom maternal cares had evidently worn heavily 
during the summer. 

This mode of taking deer is very novel and strange. 
The animal is evidently fascinated or bewildered. It 
does not appear to be frightened, but as if over- 
whelmed with amazement, or under the influence of 
some spell. It is not sufficiently master of the situa- 
tion to be sensible to fear, or to think of escape by 
flight ; and the experiment, to be successful, must be 
done quickly, before the first feeling of bewilderment 
passes. 

Witnessing the spectacle from the shore, I can con- 
ceive of nothing more sudden or astounding. You 
see no movement and hear no noise, but the light 
grows upon you, and stares and stares like a huge 
eye from the infernal regions. 

According to the guide, when a deer has been 
played upon in this manner and escaped, he is not to 
be fooled a second time. Mounting the shore, he 
gives a long signal snort, which alarms every animal 
within hearing, and dashes away. 

The sequel to the deer-shooting was a little sharp 
practice with a revolver upon a rabbit, or properly a 
hare, which was so taken with the spectacle of the 
camp-fire, and the sleeping figures lying about, that it 
ventured quite up in our midst ; but while testing the 
quality of some condensed milk that sat uncovered at 
the foot of a large tree, poor Lepus had his spine in- 
jured by a bullet. 



ADIRONDAC. 99 

Those who lodge with Nature find early rising 
quite in order. It is our voluptuous beds, and isola- 
tion from the earth and the air, that prevents us from 
emulating the birds and beasts in this respect. With 
the citizen in his chamber, it is not morning, but 
breakfast-time. The camper-out, however, feels morn- 
ing in the air, he smells it, sees it, hears it, and springs 
up with the general awakening. None were tardy at 
the row of white chips arranged on the trunk of a 
prostrate tree, when breakfast was halloed; for we 
were all anxious to try the venison. Few of us, how- 
ever, took a second piece. It was black and strong. 

The day was warm and calm, and we loafed at lei- 
sure. The woods were Nature's own. It was a lux- 
ury to ramble through them, — rank, and shaggy, and 
venerable, but with an aspect singularly ripe and mel- 
low. No fire had consumed and no lumberman plun- 
dered. Every trunk and limb and leaf lay where 
it had fallen. At every step the foot sank into the 
moss, which, like a soft green snow, covered every- 
thing, making every stone a cushion and every rock 
a bed, — a grand old Norse parlor ; adorned beyond 
art and upholstered beyond skill. 

Indulging in a brief nap on a rug of club-moss care- 
lessly dropped at the foot of a pine-tree, I woke up to 
find myself the subject of a discussion of a troop of 
chickadees. Presently three or four shy wood- war- 
blers came to look upon this strange creature that had 
wandered into their haunts ; else I passed quite un- 
noticed. 



100 ADIRONDAC. 

By the lake, I met that orchard-beauty, the cedar 
wax-wing, spending his vacation in the assumed char- 
acter of a fly-catcher, whose part he performed with 
great accuracy and deliberation. Only a month be- 
fore I had seen him regaling himself upon cherries in 
the garden and orchard, but as the dog-days ap- 
proached, he set out for the streams and lakes, to di- 
vert himself with the more exciting pursuits of the 
chase. From the tops of the dead trees along the 
border of the lake, he would sally out in all directions, 
sweeping through long curves, alternately mounting 
and descending, now reaching up for a fly high in air, 
now sinking low for one near the surface, and return- 
ing to his perch in a few moments for a fresh start. 

The pine finch was also here, though, as usual, 
never appearing at home, but with a waiting, expect- 
ant air. Here also I met my beautiful singer, the 
hermit-thrush, but with no song in his throat now. A 
week or two later and he was on his journey south- 
ward. This was the only species of thrush I saw in 
the Adirondac. Near Lake Sandford, where were 
large tracts of raspberry and wild cherry, I saw num- 
bers of them. A boy whom we met, driving home 
some stray cows, said it was the "partridge-bird," no 
doubt from the resemblance of its note, when dis- 
turbed, to the cluck of the partridge. 

Nate's Pond contained perch and sun-fish but no 
trout. Its water was not pure enough for trout. Was 
there ever any other fish so fastidious as this, requir- 
ing such sweet harmony and perfection of the ele* 



ADIRONDAC. 101 

ments for its production and sustenance ? On higher 
ground about a mile distant was a trout pond, the 
shores of which were steep and rocky. 

Our next move was a tramp of about twelve miles 
through the wilderness, most of the way in a drench- 
ing rain, to a place called the Lower Iron Works, 
situated on the road leading in to Long Lake, which 
is about a day's drive farther on. We found a com- 
fortable hotel here, and were glad enough to avail 
ourselves of the shelter and warmth which it offered. 
There was a little settlement and some quite good 
farms. The j)lace commands a fine view to the 
north of Indian Pass, Mount Marcy, and the adjacent 
mountains. On the afternoon of our arrival and also 
the next morning the view was completely shut off 
by the fog. But about the middle of the forenoon 
the wind changed, the fog lifted and revealed to us 
the grandest mountain scenery we had beheld on our 
journey. There they sat about fifteen miles distant, 
a group of them ; Mount Marcy, Mount Mclntyre, 
and Mount Golden, the real Adirondac monarchs. 
It was an impressive sight, rendered doubly so by the 
sudden manner in which it was revealed to us by that 
scene shifter the Wind. 

I saw blackbirds at this place, and sparrows, and 
the solitary sandpiper, and the Canada woodpecker, 
.vnd a large number of humming-birds. Indeed I saw 
more of the latter here than I ever before saw in any 
one locality. Their squeaking and whirring were 
almost incessant. 



102 ADIRONDAC. 

The Adirondac Iron Works belong to the past.. 
Over thirty years ago a company in Jersey City pur- 
chased some sixty thousand acres of land lying along 
the Adirondac River and abounding in magnetic iron 
ore. The land was cleared, roads, dams, and forges 
constructed, and the work of manufacturing iron be- 
gun. 

At this point a dam was built across the Hudson, 
the waters of which flowed back into Lake Sandford, 
about five miles above. The lake itself being some 
6ix miles lonsr, tolerable navigation was thus estab- 
lished for a distance of eleven miles, to the Upper 
Works, which seem to have been the only works in 
operation. At the Lower Works, besides the remains 
of the dam, the only vestige I saw was a long low 
mound, overgrown with grass and weeds, that sug- 
gested a rude earth-work. We were told that it was 
once a pile of wood containing hundreds of cords, cut 
in regular lengths and corded up here for use in the 
furnaces. 

At the Upper Works, some twelve miles distant, 
quite a village had been built, which was now entirely 
abandoned, with the exception of a single family. 

A march to this place was our next undertaking. 
The load for two or three miles kept up from the 
river and led us by three or four rough, stumpy farms. 
It then approached the lake and kept along its shores. 
Tt was here a dilapidated corduroy structure that 
compelled the traveler to keep an eye on his feet. 
Blue jays, two or three small hawks, a solitary wild 



ADIRONDAC, 103 

pigeon, and ruffed grouse were seen along the route. 
Now and then the lake gleamed through the trees, or 
we crossed on a shaky bridge some of its arms or in- 
lets. After a while we began to pass dilapidated 
houses by the roadside. One little frame house I 
remember particularly ; the door was off the hinges 
and leaned against the jambs, the windows had but a 
few panes left which glared vacantly. The yard and 
little garden spot were overrun with a heavy growth 
of timothy, and the fences had all long since gone to 
decay. At the head of the lake a large stone build- 
ing projected from the steep bank and extended over 
the. road. A little beyond the valley opened to the 
east, and looking ahead about one mile we saw smoke 
going up from a single chimney. Pressing on, just 
as the sun was setting we entered the deserted vil- 
lage. The barking of the dog brought the whole 
family into the street, and they stood till we came up. 
Strangers in that country were a novelty, and we 
were greeted like familiar acquaintances. 

Hunter, the head, proved to be a first-rate type of 
an Americanized Irishman. His wife was a Scotch 
woman. They had a family of five or six children, 
two of them grown-up daughters — modest, comely 
young women as you would find anywhere. The 
elder of the two had spent a winter in New York 
with her aunt, which perhaps made her a little more 
self-conscious when in the presence of the strange 
young men. Hunter was hired by the company at a 
iiollar a dav to live here and see that things were not 



104 ADIRONDAC. 

wantonly destroyed but allowed to go to decay prop- 
erly and decently. He had a substantial roomy 
frame house and any amount of grass and woodland. 
He had good barns and kept considerable stock, and 
raised various farm products, but only for his own 
use, as the difficulties of transportation to market 
some seventy miles distant made it no object. He 
usually went to Ticonderoga on Lake Champlain 
once a year for his groceries, etc. His post-office 
was twelve miles below at the Lower Works, where 
the mail passed twice a week. There was not a doc- 
dor, or lawyer, or preacher within twenty-five miles. 
In winter, months elapse without their seeing anybody 
from the outside world. In summer, parties occa- 
sionally pass through here on their way to Indian 
Pass and Mount Marcy. Hundreds of tons of good 
timothy hay annually rot down upon the cleared 
land. 

After nightfall we went out and walked up and 
down the grass-grown streets. It was a curious and 
melancholy spectacle. The remoteness and surround- 
ing wildness rendered the scene doubly impressive. 
And the next day and the next the place was an ob- 
ject of wonder. There were about thirty buildings 
in all, most of them small frame houses with a door 
and two windows opening into a small yard in front 
and a garden in the rear, such as are usually occupied 
by the laborers in a country manufacturing district. 
There was one large two-story boarding-house, a 
«chool-house with a cupola and a bell in it, and nu- 



ADIRONDAC. 105 

merous sheds and forges, and a saw-mill. In front 
of the saw-mill, and ready to be rolled to their place 
on the carriage, lay a large pile of pine logs, so de- 
cayed that one could run his walking-stick through 
them. Near by, a building filled with charcoal was 
bursting open and the coal going to waste on the 
ground. The smelting works were also much crum- 
bled by time. The school-house was still used. 
Every day one of the daughters assembles her 
smaller brothers and sisters there and school keeps. 
The district library contained nearly one hundred 
readable books, which were well thumbed. 

The absence of society, etc., had made the family 
all good readers. We brought them an illustrated 
newspaper which was awaiting them in the post- 
office at the Lower Works. It was read and reread 
with great eagerness by every member of the house- 
hold. 

The iron ore cropped out on every hand. There 
was apparently mountains of it ; one could see it in 
the stones along the road. But the difficulties met 
with in separating the iron from its alloys, together 
with the expense of transportation and the failure of 
certain railroad schemes, caused the works to be 
abandoned. No doubt the time is not distant when 
these obstacles will be overcome and this region re- 
opened. 

At present it is an admirable place to go to. There 
is fishing and hunting and boating and mountain 
tlimbing within easy reach, and a good roof over 



106 ADIRONDAC. 

your head at night, which is no small matter. One is 
often disqualified for enjoying the woods after he gets 
there by the loss of sleep and of proper food taken at 
seasonable times. This point attended to, and one is 
in the humor for any enterprise. 

About half a mile northeast of the village is Lake 
Henderson, a very irregular and picturesque sheet of 
water, surrounded by dark evergreen forests, and 
abutted by two or three bold promontories with mot- 
tled white and gray rocks. Its greatest extent in 
any one direction is perhaps less than a mile. Its 
waters are perfectly clear and abound in lake trout. 
A considerable stream flows into it which comes 
down from Indian Pass. 

A mile south of the village is Lake Sandford. 
This is a more open and exposed sheet of water and 
much larger. From some parts of it Mount Marcy 
ami the gorge of the Indian Pass are seen to excel- 
lent advantage. The Indian Pass shows as a huge 
cleft in the mountain, the gray walls rising on one 
side perpendicularly for many hundred feet. This 
lake abounds in white and yellow perch and in pick- 
erel ; of the latter single specimens are often caught 
which weigh fifteen pounds. There were a few wild 
ducks on both lakes. A brood of the goosander or 
•ed merganser, the young not yet able to fly, were 
tne occasion of some spirited rowing. But with two 
pairs of oars in a trim light skiff, it was impossible to 
come up with them. Yet we could not resist the 
temptation to give them a chase every day when we 



ADIRONDAC. 107 

first came on the lake. It needed a good long pull 
to sober us down so we could fish. 

The land on the east side of the lake had been 
burnt over, and was now mostly grown up with wild 
cherry and red raspberry bushes. Ruffed grouse 
were found here in great numbers. The Canada 
grouse was also common. I shot eight of the latter 
in less than an hour on one occasion ; the eighth one, 
which was an old male, was killed with smooth peb- 
ble stones, my shot having run short. The wounded 
bird ran under a pile of brush, like a frightened hen. 
Thrusting a forked stick down through the interstices 
I soon stopped his breathing. Wild pigeons were 
quite numerous also. These latter recall a singular 
freak of the sharp shinned hawk. A flock of pig- 
eons alighted on the top of a dead hemlock standing 
in the edge of a swamp. I got over the fence and 
moved toward them across an open space. I had not 
taken many steps, when on looking up I saw the 
whole flock again in motion flying very rapidly 
around the butt of a hill. Just then this hawk 
alighted on the same tree. I stepped back into the 
road and paused a moment in doubt which course to 
go. At that instant the little hawk launched into 
the air and came as straight as an arrow toward me. 
I looked in amazement, but in less than half a minute 
•he was within fifty feet of my face, coming full tilt 
as if he had sighted my nose. Almost in self-de- 
fense I let fly one barrel of my gun, and the man- 
gled form of the audacious marauder fell literally be- 
tween my feet. 



108 ADIRONDAC. " 

Of wild animals, such as bears, panthers, wolves, 
wild cats, etc., we neither saw nor heard any in the 
Adirondacs. " A howling wilderness," Thoreau says, 
"seldom ever howls. The howling is chiefly done 
by the imagination of the traveler." Hunter said he 
often saw bear tracks in the snow, but had never yet 
met Bruin. Deer are more or less abundant every- 
where, and one old sportsman declares there is yet a 
sino-le moose in these mountains. On our return, 
a pioneer settler, at whose house we stayed over 
night, told us a long adventure he had had with a 
panther. He related how it screamed, how it fol- 
lowed him in the brush, how he took to his boat, 
how its eyes gleamed from the shore, and how he fired 
his rifle at them with fatal effect. His wife in the mean 
time took something from a drawer, and as her hus- 
band finished his recital, she produced a toe-nail of the 
identical animal with marked dramatic effect. 

But better than fish or game or grand scenery or 
any adventure by night or day, is the wordless inter- 
course with rude Nature one has on these expedi- 
tions. It is something to press the pulse of our old 
mother by mountain lakes and streams, and know 
what health and vigor are in her veins, and how re* 
gardless of observation she deports herself. 



BIKDS'-NESTS. 




Crow Blackbird. 



BIRDS'-NESTS. 



How alert and vigilant the birds are, even when 
absorbed in building their nests ! In an open space 
in the woods I see a pair of cedar-birds collecting 
moss from the top of a dead tree. Following the di- 
rection in which they fly, I soon discover the nest 
placed in the fork of a small soft- maple, which stands 
amid a thick growth of wild cherry-trees and young 
beeches. Carefully concealing myself beneath it 
without any fear that the workmen will hit me with 
a chip or let fall a tool, I await the return of the busy 
pair. Presently I hear the well-known note, and the 
female sweeps down and settles unsuspectingly into 
the half-finished structure. Hardly have her wings 
rested before her eye has penetrated my screen, and 
with a hurried movement of alarm she darts away. 
In a moment the male, with a tuft of wool in his 



112 BIRDS-NESTS. 

beak (for there is a sheep-pasture near), joins her, 
and the two reconnoitre the premises from the sur- 
rounding bushes. "With their beaks still loaded, they 
move around with a frightened look, and refuse to 
approach the nest till I have moved off and lain down 
behind a log. Then one of them ventures to alight 
upon the nest, but, still suspecting all is not right, 
quickly darts away again. Then they both together 
come, and after much peeping and spying about, and 
apparently much anxious consultation, cautiously pro- 
ceed to work. In less than half an hour it would 
seem that wool enough has been brought to supply 
the whole family, real and prospective, with socks, if 
needles and fingers could be found fine enough to 
knit it up. In less than a week the female has begun 
to deposit her eggs, — four of them in as many days, 
— white tinged with purple, with black spots on the 
larger end. After two weeks of incubation, the young 
are out. 

Excepting the American goldfinch, this bird builds 
later in the spring than any other — its nest, in our 
northern climate, seldom being undertaken till July. 
As with the goldfinch, the reason is, probably, that 
suitable food for the young cannot be had at an earlier 
period. 

Like most of our common species, as the robin, 
sparrow, bluebird, pewee, wren, etc., this bird some- 
times seeks wild, remote localities in which to rear its 
young ; at others, takes up its abode near that of man. 
I knew a pair of cedar-birds, one season, to build in 






BIRDS'-NESTS. 113 

an apple-tree, the branches of which rubbed against 
the house. For a day or two before the first straw 
was laid, I noticed the pair carefully exploring every 
branch of the tree, the female taking the lead, the 
male following her with an anxious note and look. 
It was evident that the wife was to have her choice 
this time ; and, like one who thoroughly knew her 
mind, she was proceeding to take it. Finally the 
site was chosen upon a high branch, extending over 
one low wing of the house. Mutual congratulations 
and caresses followed, when both birds flew away in 
quest of building material. That most freely used is 
a sort of cotton-bearing plant, which grows in old 
worn-out fields. The nest is large for the size of the 
bird, and very soft. It is in every respect a first-class 
domicile. 

On another occasion, while walking or rather saun- 
tering in the woods (for I have discovered that one 
cannot run and read the book of nature), my atten- 
tion was arrested by a dull hammering, evidently but 
a few rods off. I said to myself, " Some one is build- 
ing a house." From what I had previously seen, I 
suspected the builder to be a red-headed woodpecker 
in the top of a dead oak stub near by. Moving cau- 
tiously in that direction, I perceived a round hole, 
about the size of that made by an inch-and-a-half 
auger, near the top of the decayed trunk, and the 
white chips of the workman strewing the ground be- 
neath. When but a few paces from the tree, my foot 
pressed upon a dry twig, which gave forth a very 
8 



114 BIRDS'-NESIS. 

slight snap. Instantly the hammering ceased, and a 
scarlet head appeared at the door. Though I re- 
mained perfectly motionless, forbearing even to wink 
till my eyes smarted, the bird refused to go on with 
his work, but flew quietly off to a neighboring tree. 
What surprised me was, that amid his busy occupa- 
tion down in the heart of the old tree, he should have 
been so alert and watchful as to catch the slightest 
sound from without. 

The woodpeckers all build in about the same man- 
ner, excavating the trunk or branch of a decayed tree 
and depositing the eggs on the fine fragments of wood 
at the bottom of the cavity. Though the nest is not 
especially an artistic w r ork, — requiring strength 
rather than skill, — yet the eggs and the young of 
few other birds are so completely housed from the 
elements, or protected from their natural enemies — 
the jays, crows, hawks, and owls. A tree with a 
natural cavity is never selected, but one which has 
been dead just long enough to have become soft and 
brittle throughout. The bird goes in horizontally for 
a few inches, making a hole perfectly round and 
smooth and adapted to his size, then turns downward, 
gradually enlarging the hole, as he proceeds, to the 
depth of ten, fifteen, twenty inches, according to the 
softness of the tree and the urgency of the mother- 
bird to deposit her eggs. "While excavating, male 
and female work alternately. After one has been 
engaged fifteen or twenty minutes, drilling and carry- 
ing out chips, it ascends to an upper limb, utters a loud 



BIRDS -NESTS. 115 

call or two, when its mate soon appears, and, alight- 
ing near it on the branch, the pa ; r chatter and caress 
a moment, then the fresh one enters the cavity and 
the other flies away. 

A few "days since I climbed up to the nest of the 
downy woodpecker, in the decayed top of a sugar- 
maple. For better protection against driving rains, 
the hole, which was rather more than an inch in di- 
ameter, was made immediately beneath a branch which 
stretched out almost horizontally from the main stem. 
It appeared merely a deeper shadow upon the dark 
and mottled surface of the bark with which the 
branches were covered, and could not be detected by 
the eye until one was within a few feet of it. The 
young chirped vociferously as I approached the nest, 
thinking it was the old one with food ; but the clamor 
suddenly ceased as I put my hand on that part of the 
trunk in which they were concealed, the unusual jar- 
ring and rustling alarming them into -silence. The 
cavity, which was about fifteen inches deep, was gourd- 
shaped, and was wrought out with great skill and 
regularity. The walls were quife smooth and clean 
and new. 

I shall never forget the circumstance of observing 
% pair of yellow-bellied woodpeckers — the most rare 
and secluded, and, next to the red-heacled, the most 
beautiful species found in our woods, — breeding in 
an old, truncated beech in the Beaverkill Mountains, 
an offshoot of the Catskills. We had been traveling 
three of us, all day in search of a trout lake, which 



116 BIRDS'-NESTS. 

lay far in among the mountains, had twice lost our 
course in the trackless forest, and, weary and hungry, 
had sat down to rest upon a decayed log. The chat- 
tering of the young, and the passing to and fro of the 
parent birds, soon arrested my attention. The en- 
trance to the nest was on the east side of the tree, 
about twenty-live feet from the ground. At intervals 
of scarcely a minute, the old birds, one after another, 
would alight upon the edge of the hole with a-grub 
or worm in their beaks; then cadi in turn would 
make a bow or two, east an eye quickly around, and 
by ;i single movement place itself in the neck of the 
passage. Here it would pause a moment, as if to de- 
termine in which expectant mouth to place the mor- 
sel, and then disappear within. In about half a min- 
ute, during which time the chattering of the young 
gradually subsided, the bird would again emerge, but 
this time bearing in its beak the ordure of one of the 
helpless family. Flying away very slowly with head 
lowered and extended, as if anxious to hold the offen- 
sive object as far from its plumage as possible, the 
bird dropped the unsavory morsel in the course of a 
few yards, and alighting on a tree, wiped its bill on 
the bark and moss. This seems to be the order all 
day, — carrying in and carrying out. I watched the 
birds for an hour, while my companions were taking 
their turn in exploring the lay of the land around us, 
and noted no variation in the programme. It would 
be curious to know if the young are fed and waited 
apon in regular order, and how, amid the darkness 



BIRDS'-NESTS. 117 

and the crowded state of the apartment, the matter is 
so neatly managed. But ornithologists are all silent 
upon the subject. 

This practice of the birds is not so uncommon as it 
might at first seem. It is indeed almost an invariable 
rule among all land birds. With woodpeckers and 
kindred species, and with birds that burrow in the 
ground, as bank swallows, kingfishers, etc., it is a ne- 
cessity. The accumulation of the excrement in the 
nest would prove most fatal to the young. 

But even among birds that neither bore nor mine, 
but which build a shallow nest on the branch of a 
tree or upon the ground, as the robin, the finches, the 
buntings, etc., the ordure of the young is removed to 
a distance by the parent bird. When the robin is 
seen going away from its brood with a slow heavy 
flight, entirely different from its manner a moment 
before on approaching the nest with a cherry or 
worm, it is certain to be engaged in this office. One 
nay observe the social sparrow, when feeding its 
young, pause a moment after the worm has been 
given and hop around on the brink of the nest ob- 
serving the movements within. 

The instinct of cleanliness no doubt prompts the 
action in all cases, though the disposition to secrecy 
or concealment may not be unmixed with it. 

The swallows form an exception to the rule, the 
excrement being voided by the young over the brink 
of the nest. They form an exception, also, to the rule 
qf secrecy, aiming not so much to conceal the nest as 
to render it inaccessible. 



118 BIRDS-NESTS. 

Other exceptions are the pigeons, hawks, and 
water-fowls. 

But to return. Having a good chance to note the 
color and markings of the woodpeckers as they passed 
in and out at the opening of the nest, I saw that Au- 
dubon had made a mistake in figuring or describing 
the female of this species with the red spot upon the 
head. I have seen a number of pairs of them, and in 
no instance have I seen the mother bird marked with 
red. 

The male was in full plumage, and I reluctantly 
shot him for a specimen. Passing by the place again 
next day I paused a moment to note how matters 
stood. I confess it was not without some compunc- 
tions that I heard the cries of the young birds, and 
saw the widowed mother, her cares now doubled, 
hastening to and fro in the solitary woods. She 
would occasionally pause expectantly on the trunk of 
a tree, and utter a loud call. 

It usually happens when the male of any species is 
killed during the breeding season, that the female 
soon procures another mate. There are, most likely, 
always a few unmated birds of both sexes, within a 
6 iven range, and through these the broken links may 
be restored. Audubon or Wilson, I forget which, 
tells of a pair of fish-hawks, or ospreys, that built 
their nest in an ancient oak. The male was so zeal- 
ous in the defense of the young that it actually at- 
tacked with beak and claw a person who attempted 
to climb into his nest, putting his face and eyes in 



BIRDS-NESTS. 119 

great jeopardy. Arming himself with a heavy club, 
the climber felled the gallant bird to the ground and 
killed him. In the course of a few clays the female 
had procured another mate. But naturally enough 
the step-father showed none of the spirit and pluck 
in defense of the brood that had been displayed by 
the original parent When clanger was nigh he was 
seen afar off, sailing around in placid unconcern. 

It is generally known that when either the wild 
turkey or domestic turkey begins to lay, and after- 
wards to sit and rear the brood, she secludes herself 
from the male, who then, very sensibly, herds with 
others of his sex, and betakes himself to haunts of 
his own till male and female, old and young, meet 
again on common ground, late in the fall. But rob 
the sitting bird of her eggs, or destroy her tender 
young, and she immediately sets out in quest of a 
male, who is no laggard when he hears her call. 
The same is true of ducks and other aquatic fowls. 
The propagating instinct is strong, and surmounts all 
ordinary difficulties. No doubt the widowhood I had 
caused in the case of the woodpeckers was of short 
duration, and chance brought, or the widow drummed 
up, some forlorn male, who was not dismayed by the 
prospect of having a large family of half-grown birds 
on his hands at the outset. 

I have seen a fine cock robin paying assiduous ad- 
dresses to a female bird, as late as the middle of 
July ; and I have no doubt that his intentions were 
honorable. I watched the pair for half an hour. 



120 

The hen, I took it, was in the market for the second 
time that season ; but the cock, from his bright, un- 
faded plumage, looked like a new arrival The hen 
resented every advance of the male. In vain he 
strutted around her and displayed his fine feathers ; 
every now and then she would make at him in a 
most spiteful manner. He followed her to the 
ground, poured into her ear a fine, half-suppressed 
warble, offered her a worm, flew back to the tree 
again with a great spread of plumage, hopped around 
her on the branches, chirruped, chattered, flew gal- 
lantly at an intruder, and was back in an instant 
at her side. No use, — she cut him short at every 
turn. 

The denouement I cannnot relate, as the artful bird, 
followed by her ardent suitor, soon flew away bevond 
my sight. It may not be rash to conclude, however, 
that she held out no longer than was prudent. 

On the whole, there seems to be a system of 
Women's Rights prevailing among the birds, which, 
contemplated from the stand-point of the male, is 
quite admirable. In almost all cases of joint inter- 
est, the female bird is the most active. She deter- 
mines the site of the nest, and is usually the most 
absorbed in its construction. Generally, she is more 
vigilant in caring for the young, and manifests the 
most concern when danger threatens. Hour after 
hour I have seen the mother of a brood of blue 
grossbeaks pass from the nearest meadow to the tree 
that held her nest, with a cricket or grasshopper in 



BIRDS-NESTS. 121 

her bill, while her better-dressed half was singing 
serenely on a distant tree or pursuing his pleasure 
amid the branches. 

Yet among the majority of our song birds the male 
is most conspicuous both by his color and manners 
and by his song, and is to that extent a shield to the 
female. It is thought that the female is humbler 
clad for her better concealment during incubation. 
But this is not satisfactory, as in some cases she is 
relieved from time to time by the male. In the case 
of the domestic dove, for instance, promptly at mid- 
day the cock is found upon the nest. I should say 
that the dull or neutral tints of the female were a 
provision of nature for her greater safety at all times, 
as her life is far more precious to the species than that 
of the male. The indispensable office of the male 
reduces itself to little more than a moment of time, 
while that of his mate extends over days and weeks, 
if not months. 1 

1 A recent English writer upon this subject presents an array of 
facts and considerations that do not support this view. He says 
that, with very few exceptions, it is the rule that, when both sexes 
are of strikingly gay and conspicuous colors, the nest is such as to 
conceal the sitting bird ; while, whenever there is a striking con- 
trast of colors, the male being gay and conspicuous, the female 
dull and obscure, the nest is open and the sitting bird exposed 
to view. The exceptions to this rule among European birds ap- 
pear to be very few. Among our own birds, the cuckoos and blue 
jays build open nests, without presenting any noticeable differ- 
ence in the coloring of the two sexes. The same is true of the 
pewees, the king-bird, and the sparrows, while the common blue- 
bird, the oriole, and orchard starling afford examples the other 
ray. 



122 



In migrating northward, the males precede the fe- 
males by eight or ten days ; returning in the fall, the 
females and young precede the males by about the 
same time. 

After the woodpeckers have abandoned their nests, 
or rather chambers, which they do after the first sea- 
son, their cousins, the nut-hatches, chickadees, and 
brown creepers, fall heir to them. These birds, es- 
pecially the creepers and nut-hatches, have many of 
the habits of the picidce, but lack their powers of 
bill, and so are unable to excavate a nest for them- 
selves. Their habitation, therefore, is always second- 
hand. But each species carries in some soft material 
of various kinds, or, in other words, furnishes the 
tenement to its liking. The chickadee arranges in 
the bottom of the cavity a little mat of a light felt-like 
substance, which looks as if it came from the hatter's, 
but which is probably the work of numerous worms 
or caterpillars. On this soft lining the female depos- 
its six white eggs. 

I recently discovered one of these nests in a most 
interesting situation. The tree containing it, a vari- 
ety of the wild-cherry, stood upon the brink of the 
bald summit of a high mountain. Gray,, time-worn 
rocks lay piled loosely about, or overtoppled the just 
risible by-ways of the red fox. The trees had a half- 
scared look, and that indescribable wildness which 
lurks about the tops of all remote mountains pos- 
sessed the place. Standing there I looked down upon 
the back of the red-tailed hawk as he flew out over 



BIRDS'-NESTS. 123 

the earth beneath me. Following him, my eye also 
took in farms and settlements and villages and other 
mountain ranges that grew blue in the distance. 

The parent birds attracted my attention by appear- 
ing with food in their beaks, and by seeming much 
put out. Yet so wary were they of revealing the 
locality of their brood, or even of the precise tree 
that held them, that I lurked around over an hour 
without gaining a point on them. Finally a bright 
and curious boy who accompanied me secreted him- 
self under a low, projecting rock close to the tree 
in which we supposed the nest to be, while I moved 
off around the mountain -side. It was not long be- 
fore the youth had their secret. The tree, which 
was low and wide branching, and overrun with lich- 
ens, appeared at a cursory glance to contain not one 
dry or decayed limb. Yet there was one a few feet 
long, in which, when my eyes were piloted thither, I 
detected a small round orifice. 

As my weight began to shake the branches, the 
consternation of both old and young was great. The 
stump of a limb that held the nest was about three 
inches thick, and at the bottom of the tunnel was ex- 
cavated quite to the bark. With my thumb I broke 
in the thin wall, and the young, which were full- 
fledged, looked out upon the world for the first time. 
Presently one of them, which a significant chirp, as 
much as to say, " It is time we were out of this," be- 
gan to climb up toward the proper entrance. Placing 
himself in the hole, he looked around without mani- 



124 BIRDS-NESTS. 

festing any surprise at the grand scene that lay spread 
out before him. He was taking his bearings and de- 
termining how far he could trust the power of his un- 
tried wings to take him out of harm's way. After a 
moment's pause, with a loucl chirrup, he launched out 
and made tolerable headway. The others rapidly fol- 
lowed. Each one, as it started upward, from a sud- 
den impulse, contemptuously saluted the abandoned 
nest with its excrement. 

Though generally regular in their habits and in- 
stincts, yet the birds sometimes seem as whimsical and 
capricious as superior beings. One is not safe, for 
instance, in making any absolute assertion as to their 
place or mode of building. Ground builders often 
get up into a bush, and tree builders sometimes get 
upon the ground or into a tussock of grass. The 
song sparrow, which is a ground builder, has been 
known to build in the knot-hole of a fence rail, and a 
chimney swallow once got tired of soot and smoke, 
and fastened its nest on a rafter in a hay barn. A 
friend tells me of a pair of barn swallows which, tak- 
iug a fanciful turn, saddled their nest in the loop of a 
rope that was pendent from a peg in the peak, and 
liked it so well that they repeated the experiment 
next year. I have known the social sparrow, or " hair- 
bird," to build under a shed, in a tuft of hay that hung 
down, through the loose flooring, from the mow above. 
It usually contents itself with half a dozen stalks 
of dry grass and a few long hairs from a cow's tail 
loosely arranged on the branch of an apple-tree. The 






BIRDS-NESTS. 125 

rough-winged swallow builds in the wall and in old 
stone heaps, and I have seen the robin build in simi- 
lar localities. Others have found its nest in old, aban- 
doned wells. The house wren will build in anything 
that has an accessible cavity, from an old boot to a 
bombshell. A pair of them once persisted in build- 
ing their nest in the top of a certain pump-tree, get- 
ting in through the opening above the handle. The 
pump being in daily use, the nest was destroyed more 
than a score of times. This jealous little wretch has 
the wise forethought, when* the box in which he 
builds contains two compartments, to fill up one of 
them, so as to avoid the risk of troublesome neigh- 
bors. 

The less skillful builders sometimes depart from 
their usual habit, and take up with the abandoned 
nest of some other species. The blue jay now and 
then lays in an old crow's-nest or cuckoo's-nest. The 
crow-blackbird, seized with a fit of indolence, drops 
its eggs in the cavity of a decayed branch. I heard 
of a cuckoo that dispossessed a robin of its nest ; of 
another that set a blue jay adrift. Large, loose 
structures, like the nests of the osprey and certain 
of the herons, have been found with half a dozen 
nests of the blackbird set in the outer edges, like so 
many parasites, or, as Audubon says, like the retain- 
ers about the rude court of a feudal baron. 

The same birds breeding in a southern climate 
construct far less elaborate nests than when breeding 
in a northern climate. Certain species of water-fowl 



126 BIRDS'-NESTS. 

that abandon their eggs to the sand and the sun in 
the warmer zones, build a nest and sit in the usual 
way in Labrador. In Georgia, the Baltimore oriole 
places its nest upon the north side of the tree ; in 
the Middle and Eastern States, it fixes it upon the 
south or east side, and makes it much thicker and 
warmer. I have seen one from the South that had 
some kind of coarse reed or sedge woven into it, giv- 
ing it an open work appearance, like a basket. 

Very few species use the same material uniformly. 
I have seen the nest cff the robin quite destitute of 
mud. In one instance, it was composed mainly of 
long black horse-hairs, arranged in a circular manner, 
with a linging of fine yellow grass ; the whole pres- 
enting quite a novel appearance. In another case, 
the nest was chiefly constructed of a species of rock 
moss. 

The nest for the second brood during the same 
season is often a mere make-shift. The haste of the 
female to deposit her eggs as the season advances 
seems very great, and the structure is apt to be pre- 
maturely finished. I was recently reminded of this 
fact by happening, about the last of July, to meet 
with several nests of the wood or bush sparrow in a 
remote blackberry field. The nests with eggs were 
far less elaborate and compact than the earlier nests, 
from which the young had flown. 

Day after clay, as I go to a certain piece of woods, 
I observe a male incligo-bird sitting on precisely the 
eame part of a high branch, and singing in his most 



BIEDS-NESTS. 127 

vivacious style. As I approach he ceases to sing, and, 
flirting his tail right and left with marked emphasis, 
chirps sharply. In a low bush near by, I come upon 
the object of his solicitude — a thick, compact nest 
composed largely of dry leaves and fine grass, in 
which a plain brown bird is sitting upon four pale 
blue eggs. 

The wonder is, that a bird will leave the apparent 
security of the tree-tops, to place its nest in the way 
of the many dangers that walk and crawl upon the 
ground. There, far up out of reach, sings the bird ; 
here, not three feet from the ground, are its eggs or 
helpless young. The truth is, birds are the greatest 
enemies of birds, and it is with reference to this fact 
that many of the smaller species build. 

Perhaps the greatest proportion of birds breed 
along highways. I have known the ruffed grouse to 
come out of a dense wood and make its nest at the 
root of a tree within ten paces of the road, where, no 
doubt, hawks and crows, as well as skunks and foxes, 
would be less liable to find it out. Traversing remote 
mountain-roads through dense woods, I have repeat- 
edly seen the veery, or Wilson's thrush, sitting upon 
her nest, so near me that I could almost take her from 
it by stretching out my hand. Birds of prey show 
none of this confidence in man, and, when locating 
their nests, avoid rather than seek his haunts. 

In a certain locality in the interior of New York, I 
know, every season, where I am sure to find a nest or 
two of the slate-colored snow-bird. It is under the 



128 BIRDS'-NESTS. 

brink of a low, mossy bank, so near the highway that 
it could be reached from a passing vehicle with a whip. 
Every horse or wagon or foot passenger disturbs the 
sitting bird. She awaits the near approach of the 
sound of feet or wheels, and then darts quickly across 
the road, barely clearing the ground, and disappears 
amid the bushes on the opposite side. 

In the trees that line one of the main streets and 
fashionable drives leading out of Washington city, 
and less than half a mile from the boundary, I have 
counted the nests of five different species at one time, 
and that without any very close scrutiny of the foliage, 
while in many acres of woodland, half a mile off, I 
searched in vain for a single nest. Among the five 
the nest that interested me most was that of the blue 
grossbeak. Here this bird, which, according to Au- 
dubon's observations in Louisiana, is shy and recluse, 
affecting remote marshes and the borders of large 
ponds of stagnant water, had placed its nest in the 
lowest twig of the lowest branch of a large sycamore, 
immediately over a great thoroughfare, and so near 
the ground that a person standing in a cart or sitting 
on a horse could have reached it with his hand. The 
nest was composed mainly of fragments of newspaper 
and stalks of grass, and though so low, was remark- 
ably well concealed by one of the peculiar clusters of 
twigs and leaves which characterize this tree. The 
nest contained young when I discovered it, and 
though the parent birds were much annoyed by my 
loitering about beneath the tree, they paid little atten- 



BIRDS'-XESTS. 129 

tion to the stream of vehicles that was constantly pass- 
ing. It was a wonder to me when the birds could 
have built it, for they are much shyer when building 
than at other times. No doubt they worked mostly 
in the morning, having the early hours all to them- 
selves. 

Another pair of blue grossbeaks built in a grave- 
yard within the city limits. The nest was placed in 
a low bush, and the male continued to sing at inter- 
vals till the young were ready to fly. The song of 
this bird is a rapid, intricate warble, like that of the 
indigo-bird, though stronger and louder. Indeed, 
these two birds so much resemble each other in color, 
form, manner, voice, and general habits that, were it 
not for the difference in size, — the grossbeak being 
nearly as large again as the indigo-bird, — it would 
be a hard matter to tell them apart. The females of 
both species are clad in the same reddish-brown suits. 
So are the young the first season. 

Of course in the- deep, primitive woods also are 
nests ; but how rarely we find them ! The simple art 
of the bird consists in choosing common, neutral-tinted 
material, as moss, dry leaves, twigs, and various odds 
and ends, and placing the structure on a convenient 
branch, where it blends in color with its surround- 
ings ; but how consummate is this art, and how skill- 
fully is the nest concealed ! We occasionally light 
upon it, but who, unaided by the movements of the 
bird, could find it out ? During the present season I 
went to the woods nearly every day for a fortnight, 



130 

without making any discoveries of this kind ; till one 
day, paying them a farewell visit, I chanced to come 
upon several nests. A black and white creeping war- 
bler suddenly became much alarmed as I approached 
a crumbling old stump in a dense part of the forest. 
He alighted upon it, chirped sharply, ran up and 
down its sides, and finally left it with much reluc- 
tance. The nest, which contained three young birds 
nearly fledged, was placed upon the ground, at the 
foot of the stump, and in such a position that the color 
of the young harmonized perfectly with the bits of 
bark, sticks, etc., lying about. My eye rested upon 
them for the second time before I made them out. 
They hugged the nest very closely, but as I put down 
my hand they all scampered off with loud cries for 
help, which caused the parent birds to place them- 
selves almost within my reach. The nest was merely 
a little dry grass arranged in a thick bed of dry leaves. 
This was amid a thick undergrowth. Moving on 
into a passage of large stately hemlocks, with only 
here and there a small beech or maple rising up into 
the perennial twilight, I paused to make out a note 
which was entirely new to me. It is still in my ear. 
Though unmistakably a bird note, it yet suggested 
the bleating of a tiny lambkin. Presently the birds 
appeared, — a pair of the solitary vireo. They came 
flitting from point to point, alighting only for a mo- 
ment at a time, the male silent, but the female utter- 
ing this strange, tender note. It was a rendering into 
Borne new sylvan dialect of the human sentiment of 



BIRDS-NESTS. 131 

maidenly love. It was really pathetic in its sweetness 
and childlike confidence and joy. I soon discovered 
that the pair were building a nest upon a low branch 
a few yards from me. The male flew cautiously to 
the spot, and adjusted something, and the twain moved 
on, the female calling to her mate at intervals, love-e, 
love-e, with a cadence and tenderness in the tone that 
rang in the ear long afterward. The nest was sus- 
pended to the fork of a small branch, as is usual with 
the vireos, plentifully lined with lichens, and bound 
and rebound with masses of coarse spider-webs. 
There was no attempt at concealment except in the 
neutral tints, which made it look like a natural growth 
of the dim, gray woods. 

Continuing my random walk, I next paused in a 
low part of the woods, where the larger trees began 
to give place to a thick second-growth that covered 
an old Barkpeeling. I was standing by a large ma- 
ple, when a small bird darted quickly away from it, 
as if it might have come out of a hole near its base. 
As the bird paused a few yards from me, and began 
to chirp uneasily, my curiosity was at once excited. 
When I saw it was the female mourning ground 
warbler, and remembered that the nest of this bird 
had not yet been seen by any naturalist, — that not 
even Dr. Brewer had ever seen the eggs, — I felt 
that here was something worth looking for. So I 
carefully began the search, exploring inch by inch the 
ground, the base and roots of the tree, and the vari- 
ous shrubby growths about it, till, finding nothing, 



132 BIRDS'-NESTS. 

and fearing I might really put niy foot in it, I be- 
thought me to withdraw to a distance and after some 
delay return again, and, thus forewarned, note the 
exact point from which the bird flew. This I did, 
and, returning, had little difficulty in discovering the 
nest. It was placed but a few feet from the maple- 
tree, in a bunch of ferns, and about six inches from 
the ground. It was quite a massive nest, composed 
entirely of the stalks and leaves of dry grass, with an 
inner lining of line, dark-brown roots. The eggs, 
three in number, were of light flesh color, uniformly 
specked with fine brown specks. The cavity of the 
nest was so deep that the back of the sitting bird sank 
below the edge. 

In the top of a tall tree, a short distance farther 
on, I saw the nest of the red-tailed hawk, — a large 
mass of twigs and dry sticks. The young had flown, 
but still lingered in the vicinity, and, as I approached, 
the mother bird flew about over me, squealing in a 
very angry, savage manner. Tufts of the hair and 
other indigestible material of the common meadow 
mouse lay around on the ground beneath the nest. 

As I was about leaving the woods my hat almost 
brushed the nest of the red-eyed vireo, which" hung 
basket-like on the end of a low, drooping branch of 
the beech. I should never have seen it had the bird 
kept her place. It contained three eggs of the bird's 
own, and one of the cow-bunting. The strange egg 
was only just perceptibly larger than the others, yet 
three days after, when I looked into the nest again 



133 

and found all but one egg hatched, the young inter- 
loper was at least four times as large as either of the 
others, and with such a superabundance of bowels as 
to almost smother his bedfellows beneath them. That 
the intruder should fare the same as the rightful oc- 
cupants, and thrive with them, was more than ordi- 
nary potluck ; but that it alone should thrive, devour- 
ing, as it were, all the rest, is one of those freaks of 
Nature in which she would seem to discourage the 
homely virtues of prudence and honesty. Weeds and 
parasites have the odds greatly against them, yet they 
wage a very successful war nevertheless. 

The woods hold not such another gem as the nest 
of the humming-bird. The finding of one is an event 
to date from. It is the next best thing to finding an 
eagle's nest. I have met with but two, both by chance. 
One was placed on the horizontal branch of a chest- 
nut-tree, with a solitary green leaf, forming a com- 
plete canopy, about an inch and a half above it. The 
repeated spiteful dartings of the bird past my ears, as 
I stood under the tree, caused me to suspect that I 
was intruding upon some one's privacy ; and follow- 
ing it with my eye, I soon saw the nest, which was in 
process of construction. Adopting my usual tactics 
of secreting myself near by, I had the satisfaction of 
seeing the tiny artist at work. It was the female un- 
assisted by her mate. At intervals of two or three 
minutes she would appear with a small tuft of some 
cottony substance in her beak, dart a few times through 
and around the tree, and alighting quickly in the nest 



134 BIRDS-NESTS. 

arrange the material she had brought, using her breast 
as a model. 

The other uest I discovered in a dense forest on 
the side of a mountain. The sitting bird was dis- 
turbed as I passed beneath her. The whirring of her 
wings arrested my attention, when, after a short pause, 
I had the good luck to see, through an opening in 
the leaves, the bird return to her nest, which ap- 
peared like a mere wart or excrescence on a small 
branch. The humming-bird, unlike all others, does 
not alight upon the nest, but flies into it. She enters 
it as quick as a flash but as light as any feather. Two 
eggs are the complement. They are perfectly white, 
and so frail that only a woman's fingers may touch 
them. Incubation lasts about ten days. In a week 
the young have flown. 

The only nest like the humming-bird's, and com- 
parable to it in neatness and symmetry, is that of the 
blue-gray gnatcatcher. This is often saddled upon the 
limb in the same manner, though it is generally more 
or less pendent; it is deep and soft, composed mostly 
of some vegetable down covered all over with delicate 
tree-lichens, and, except that it is much larger, ap- 
pears almost identical with the nest of the humming- 
bird. 

But the nest of nests, the ideal nest, after we have 
left the deep woods, is unquestionably that of the Bal- 
timore oriole. It is the only perfectly pensile nest 
we have. The nest of the orchard oriole is indeed 
mainly so, but this bird generally builds lower and 
shallower, more after the manner of the vireos. 



BIRDS-NESTS. 135 

The Baltimore oriole loves to attach its nest to the 
swaying branches of the tallest elms, making no at- 
tempt at concealment, but satisfied if the position be 
high and the branch pendent. This nest would seem 
to cost more time and skill than any other bird struct- 
ure. A peculiar flax-like substance seems to be al- 
ways sought after and always found. The nest when 
completed assumes the form of a large, suspended, 
gourd. The walls are thin but firm, and proof against 
the most driving rain. The mouth is hemmed or 
overhanded with horse-hair, and the sides are usually 
sewed through and through with the same. 

Not particular as to the matter of secrecy, the bird 
is not particular as to material, so that it be of the 
nature of strings or threads. A lady friend once told 
me that while working by an open window, one of 
these birds approached during her momentary, ab- 
sence, and, seizing a skein of some kind of thread or 
yarn, made off with it to its half-finished nest. But 
the perverse yarn caught fast in the branches, and, in 
the bird's efforts to extricate it, got hopelessly tangled. 
She tugged away at it all day, but was finally obliged 
to content herself with a few detached portions. The 
fluttering strings were an eye-sore to her ever after, 
ind passing and repassing, she would give them a 
spiteful jerk, as much as to say, " There is that con- 
founded yarn that gave me so much trouble." 



From Pennsylvan 



Hm indebted for 



)ther 



ia, Yiuceiit Barnard (to whom I 
r ^"curious facts} sent ine this in- 



teresting story oi ankjrUjJe. loe sJj^a friend of his, 



136 BIRDS-NESTS. 

curious in such things, on observing the bird begin- 
ning to build, hung out near the prospective nest 
skeins of many-colored zephyr yarn, which the eager 
artist readily appropriated. He managed it so that 
the bird used nearly equal quantities of various high, 
bright colors. The nest was made unusually deep 
and capacious, and it may be questioned if such a 
thing of beauty was ever before woven by the cunning 
of a bird. 

Nuttall, by far the most genial of American orni- 
thologists, relates the following : — 

" A female (oriole), which I observed attentively, 
carried off to her nest a piece of lamp-wick ten or 
twelve feet long. This long string and many other 
shorter ones were left hanging out for about a week 
before both the ends were wattled into the sides of 
the nest. Some other little birds making use of simi- 
lar materials, at times twitched these flowing ends, 
and generally brought out the busy Baltimore from 
her occupation in great anger. 

" I may perhaps claim indulgence for adding a 
little more of the biography of this particular bird, as 
a representative also of the instincts of her race. 
She completed the nest in about a week's time, with- 
out any aid from her mate ; who indeed appeared but 
seldom in her company and was now become nearly 
silent. For fibrous materials she broke, hackled, 
and gathered the flax of the asclepias and hibiscus 
stalks, tearing off long strings and flying with them 
to the scene of her labors. She appeared very eager 



BIRDS'-NESTS. 137 

and hasty in her pursuits, and collected her materials 
without fear or restraint, while three men were work- 
ing in the neighboring walks and many persons visit- 
ing the garden. Her courage and perseverance were 
indeed truly admirable. If watched too narrowly, 
she saluted with her usual scolding, tslirr, tshrr, tshrr, 
seeing no reason, probably, why she should be inter- 
rupted in her indispensable occupation. 

" Though the males were now comparatively silent 
on the arrival of their busy mates, I could not help 
observing this female and a second, continually vocif- 
erating, apparently in strife. At last she was ob- 
served to attack this second female very fiercely, who 
slyly intruded herself at times into the same tree 
where she was building. These contests were angry 
and often repeated. To account for this animosity, 
I now recollected that tioo fine males had been 
killed in our vicinity ; and I therefore concluded the 
intruder to be left without a mate ; yet she had gained 
the affections of the consort of the busy female, and 
thus the cause of their jealous quarrel became ap- 
parent. Having obtained the confidence of her faith- 
less paramour, the second female began preparing to 
weave a nest in an adjoining elm, by tying together 
certain pendent twigs as a foundation. The male 
now associated chiefly with the intruder, whom he 
even assisted in her labor, yet did not wholly forget 
his first partner who called on him one evening in a 
low affectionate tone, which was answered in the 
same strain. While they were thus engaged in 



138 BIRDS-NESTS. 

friendly whispers, suddenly appeared the rival, and a 
violent rencontre ensued, so that one of the females 
appeared to be greatly agitated, and fluttered with 
spreading wings as if considerably hurt. The male 
though prudently neutral in the contest, showed his 
culpable partiality by flying oif with his paramour, 
and for the rest of the evening left the tree to his 
pugnacious consort. Cares of another kind more 
imperious and tender, at length reconciled, or at 
least terminated these disputes with the jealous fe- 
males ; and by the aid of the neighboring bachelors, 
who are never wanting among these and other birds, 
peace was at length completely restored, by the res- 
titution of the quiet and happy condition of monog- 
amy." 

Let me not forget to mention the nest under the 
mountain ledge, the nest of the common pewee, — a 
modest mossy structure, with four pearl white eggs, 
— looking out upon some wild scene and overhung 
by beetling crags. After all has been said about the 
elaborate, high-hung structures, few nests perhaps 
awaken more pleasant emotions in the mind of the 
->eholder than this of the pewee, — the gray, silent 
rocks, with caverns and dens where the fox and the 
wolf lurk, and just out of their reach, in a little niche, 
as if it grew there, the mossy tenement ! 

Nearly every high projecting rock in my range has 
}ne of these nests. Following a trout stream up a 
wild mountain gorge, not long since, I counted five 
in the distance of a mile, all within easy reach, but 






BIRDS-NESTS. 139 

safe from the minks and the skunks, and well housed 
from the storms. In my native town I know a pine 
and oak clad hill, round-topped, with a bold, precipi- 
tous front extending half-way around it. Near the 
top, and along this front or side, there crops out a 
ledge of rocks unusually high and cavernous. One 
immense layer projects many feet, allowiug a person 
or many persons, standing upright, to move freely be- 
neath it. There is a delicious spring of water there, 
and plenty of wild, cool air. The floor is of loose 
stone, now trod by sheep and foxes, once by the Indian 
and the wolf. How I have delighted from boyhood 
to spend a summer-day in this retreat or take refuge 
there from a sudden shower ! Always the freshness 
and coolness, and always the delicate mossy nest of 
the phoebe-bird ! The bird keeps her place till you 
are within a few feet of her, when she flits to a near 
branch, and, with many oscillations of her tail, ob- 
serves you anxiously. Since the country has become 
settled this pewee has fallen into the strange practice 
of occasionally placing its nest under a bridge, hay- 
shed, or other artificial structure, where it is subject 
to all kinds of interruptions and annoyances. When 
placed thus, the nest is larger and coarser. I know a 
hay-loft beneath which a pair has regularly placed its 
nest for several successive seasons. Arranged along 
on a single pole, which sags down a few inches from 
the flooring it was intended to help support, are three 
of these structures, marking the number of years the 
birds have nested there. The foundation is of mud 



140 BIRDS'-NESTS. 

with a superstructure of moss, elaborately lined with 
hair and feathers. Nothing can be more perfect and 
exquisite than the interior of one of these nests, yet a 
new one is built every season. Three broods, how- 
ever, are frequently reared in it. 

The pewees, as a class, are the best architects we 
have. The king-bird builds a nest altogether admir- 
able, using various soft cotton and woolen substances, 
and sparing neither time nor material to make it sub- 
stantial and warm. The green-crested pewee builds 
its nest in many instances wholly of the blossoms of 
the white-oak. The wood pewee builds a neat, com- 
pact, socket-shaped nest of moss and lichens on a 
horizontal branch. There is never a loose end or 
shred about it. The sitting bird is largely visible 
above the rim. She moves her head freely about 
and seems entirely at her ease, — a circumstance 
which I have never observed in any other species. 
The nest of the great-crested flycatcher is seldom 
free from snake skins, three or four being sometimes 
woven into it. 

About the thinnest, shallowest nest, for its situa- 
tion, that can be found is that of the turtle-dove. A 
few sticks and straws are carelessly thrown together, 
hardly sufficient to prevent the eggs from falling 
through or rolling off. The nest of the passenger 
pigeon is equally hasty and insufficient, and the squabs 
pften fall to the ground and perish. The other ex- 
treme among our common birds is furnished by the 
ferruginous thrush, which collects together a mass 



BIRDS'-NESTS. 141 

of material that would fill a half-bushel measure ; or 
by the fish-hawk, which adds to and repairs its nest 
year after year, till the whole would make a cart-load. 
The rarest of all nests is that of the eagle, because 
the eagle is the rarest of all birds. Indeed so seldom 
is the eagle seen that its presence always seems acci- 
dental. It appears as if merely pausing on the way, 
while bound for some distant unknown region. One 
September, while a youth, I saw the ring-tailed 
eagle, an immense, dusky bird, the sight of which 
filled me with awe. It lingered about the hills for 
two days. Some young cattle, a two-year-old colt, 
and half a dozen sheep were at pasture on a high 
ridge that led up to the mountain, and in plain view 
of the house. On the second day this dusky mon- 
arch was seen flying about above them. Presently 
he began to hover over them, after the manner of a 
hawk watching for mice. He then with extended 
legs let himself slowly down upon them, actually 
grappling the backs of the young cattle, and fright- 
ening the creatures so that they rushed about the 
field in great consternation ; and finally, as he grew 
bolder and more frequent in his descents, the whole 
herd broke over the fence and came tearing down 
to the house " like mad." It did not seem to be 
an assault with intent to kill, but was perhaps a 
stratagem resorted to in order to separate the herd 
and expose the lambs, which hugged the cattle very 
closely. When he occasionally alighted upon the 
oaks that stood near, the branch could be seen to 



142 BIRDS'-XESTS. 

Bway and bend beneath him. Finally, as a rifleman 
started out in pursuit of him, he launched into the 
air, set his wings, and sailed away southward. A 
few years afterward, in January, another eagle passed 
through the same locality, alighting in a field near 
some dead animal, but tarried briefly. 

So much by way of identification. The bird is com* 
mon to the northern parts of both hemispheres, and 
places its eyrie on high precipitous rocks. A pair 
built on an inaccessible shelf of rock along the Hudson 
for eight successive years. A squad of Revolution- 
ary soldiers, also, found a nest along this river, and 
had an adventure with the bird that came near cost- 
ing one of their number his life. His comrades let 
him down by a rope to secure the eggs or young, 
when he was attacked by the female eagle with such 
fury that he was obliged to defend himself with his 
knife. In doing so, by a misstroke, he nearly sev- 
ered the rope that held him. and was drawn up by a 
single strand from his perilous position. Audubon, 
from whom this anecdote is taken, figures and de- 
scribes this bird as the golden eagle, though I have 
little doubt that Wilson was right, and that the 
golden eagle is a distinct species. 

The sea-eagle, also, builds on high rocks, according 
to Audubon, though Wilson describes the nest of one 
which he saw near Great Egg Harbor, in the top of 
a large yellow pine. Tt was a vast pile of sticks, 
sods, sedge, grass, reeds, etc., etc., five or six feet 
high by four broad, and with little or no concavity. 



BIRDS'-NESTS. 143 

It had been used for many years, and he was told 
that the eagles made it a sort of home or lodging- 
place in all seasons. This agrees with the descrip- 
tion which Audubon gives of the nest of the bald 
eagle. There is evidently a little confusion on both 
sides. 

The eagle in all cases uses one nest, with more or 
less repair, for several years. Many of our common 
birds do the same. The birds may be divided, with 
respect to this and kindred points, into five general 
classes. First, those that repair or appropriate the 
last year's nest, as the wren, swallow, bluebird, great- 
crested flycatcher, owls, eagles, fish-hawk, and a few 
others. Secondly, those that build anew each season, 
though frequently rearing more than one brood in the 
same nest. Of these the phoebe-bird is a well-known 
example. Thirdly, those that build a new nest for 
each brood, which includes by far the greatest num- 
ber of species. Fourthly, a limited number that 
make no nest of their own, but appropriate the aban- 
doned nests of other birds. Finally, those who use 
no nest at all, but deposit their eggs in the sand, which 
is the case with a large number of aquatic fowls. 
Thus, the common gull breeds in vast numbers on the 
sand bars or sand islands off the south coast of Long 
Island. A little dent is made in the sand, the eggs 
are dropped, and the old birds go their way. In due 
time the eggs are hatched by the warmth of the sun, 
and the little creatures shift for themselves In Julv 



IU 



BIRDS-NESTS. 



countless numbers of them, of different ages and sizes, 
swarm upon these sandy wastes. As the waves roll 
out they rush down the beach, picking up a kind of 
sea gluten, and then hasten back to avoid the next 
breaker. 




Phoebe-bird, 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 




Purple Finch. 

SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

WITH AN EYE TO THE BIRDS. 

I came to Washington to live in the fall of 1863, 
and, with the exception of a month each summer 
spent in the interior of New York, have lived here 
ever since. *'6Yy 

I saw my first novelty in Natural History the day 
after my arrival. As I was walking near some woods 
north of the city, a grasshopper of prodigious size 
flew up from the ground and alighted in a tree. As 
I pursued him, he proved to be nearly as wild and as 
.fleet of wing as a bird. I thought I had reached the 
capital of grasshopperdom, and that this was perhaps 
one of the chiefs or leaders, or perhaps the great High 
Cock O'lorum himself, taking an airing in the fields. 



148 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

I have never yet been able to settle the question, as 
every fall I start up a few of these gigantic specimens, 
which perch on the trees. They are about three 
inches long, of a gray striped or spotted color, and 
have quite a reptile look. 

The greatest novelty I found, however, was the 
superb autumn weather, the bright, strong, electric 
days, lasting well into November, and the general 
mildness of the entire winter. Though the mercury 
occasionally sinks to zero, yet the earth is never so 
seared and blighted by the cold, but that in some 
sheltered nook or corner signs of vegetable life still 
remain, which on a little encouragement even asserts 
itself. I have found wild flowers here every month 
in the year ; violets in December, a single houstonia 
in January (the little lump of earth upon which it 
stood was frozen hard), and a tiny, weed-like plant, 
with a flower almost microscopic in its smallness, 
growing along graveled walks, and in old plowed 
fields in February. The liverwort sometimes comes 
out as early as the first week in March, and the little 
frogs begin to pipe doubtfully about the same time 
Apricot-trees are usually in bloom on All-Fool's-day, 
and the apple-trees on May-day. By August, mother 
hen will lead forth her third brood, and I had a March 
pullet that came off with a family of her own in 
September. Our calendar is made for this climate. 
March is a spring month. One is quite sure to see 
some marked and striking change during the first 
eight or ten days. This season (1868) is a backward 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 149 

one, and the memorable change did not come till the 
10th. 

Then the sun rose up from a bed of vapors, and 
seemed fairly to dissolve with tenderness and warmth. 
For an hour or two the air was perfectly motionless, 
and full of low, humming, awakening sounds. The 
naked trees had a rapt, expectant look. From some 
unreclaimed common near by came the first strain of 
the song-sparrow ; so homely, because so old and 
familiar, yet so inexpressibly pleasing. Presently a 
full chorus of voices arose ; tender, musical, half sup- 
pressed, but full of genuine hilarity and joy. The 
bluebird warbled, the robin called, the snow-bird 
chattered, the meadow-lark uttered her strong, but 
tender note. Over a deserted field a turkey-buzzard 
hovered low, and alighted on a stake in the fence, 
standing a moment with outstretched, vibrating wings, 
till he was sure of his hold. A soft, warm, brooding 
day. Roads becoming dry in many places, and look- 
ing so good after the mud and the snow. I walk up 
beyond the boundary and over Meridian Hill. To 
move along the drying road and feel the delicious 
warmth is enough. The cattle low long and loud, 
and look wistfully into the distance. I sympathize 
with them. Never a spring comes, but I have an 
almost irresistible desire to depart. Some nomadic 
or migrating instinct or reminiscence stirs within me. 
I ache to be off. 

As I pass along, the high-hole calls in the distance 
precisely as I have heard him in the North. After a 



150 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

pause he repeats his summons. "What can be more 
welcome to the ear than these early first sounds 
They have such a margin of silence ! 

One need but pass the boundary of Washington 
city to be fairly in the country, and ten minutes' 
walk in the country brings one to real primitive 
woods. The town has not yet overflowed its limits 
like the great Northern commercial capitals, and 
Nature, wild and unkempt, comes up to its very 
threshold, and even in many places crosses it. 

The woods, which I soon reach, are stark and still. 
The signs of returning life are so faint as to be al- 
most imperceptible, but there is a fresh, earthy smell 
in the air, as if something had stirred here under the 
leaves. The crows caw above the wood, or walk about 
the brown fields. I look at the gray, silent trees 
long and long, but they show no sign. The catkins 
of some alders by a little pool have just swelled per- 
ceptibly ; and brushing away the dry leaves and de- 
bris on a sunny slope, I discover the liverwort just 
pushing up a fuzzy, tender sprout. But the waters 
have brought forth. The little frogs are musical. 
From every marsh and pool goes up their shrill, but 
pleasing chorus. Peering into one of their haunts, a 
little body of semi-stagnant water, I discover masses 
of frogs' spawn covering the bottom. I take up great 
chunks of the cold, quivering jelly in my hands. In 
some places there are gallons of it. A youth who 
accompanies me wonders if it would not be good 
cooked, or if it could not be used as a substitute for 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 151 

eggs. It is a perfect jelly, of a slightly milky tinge, 
thickly imbedded with black spots about the size of 
a small bird's eye. When just deposited, it is per- 
fectly transparent. These hatch in eight or ten days, 
gradually absorb their gelatinous surroundings, and 
the tiny tadpoles issue forth. 

In the city, even before the shop-windows have 
caught the inspiration, spring is heralded by the silver 
poplars, which line all the streets and avenues. After 
a few mild, sunshiny March days, you suddenly per- 
ceive a change has come over the trees. Their tops 
have a less naked look. If the weather continues 
warm, a single day will work wonders. Presently 
the tree will be one vast plume of gray, downy tas- 
sels, while not the least speck of green foliage is vis- 
ible. The first week in April these long mimic cater- 
pillars lie all about the streets and fill the gutters. 

The approach of spring is also indicated by the 
crows and buzzards, which rapidly multiply in the en- 
virons of the city, and grow bold and demonstrative. 
The crows are abundant here all winter, but are not 
very noticeable except as they pass high in air to and 
from their winter-quarters in the Virginia woods. 
Early in the morning, as soon as it is light enough to 
discern them, there they are, streaming eastward 
across the sky, now in loose, scattered flocks, now in 
thick, dense masses, then singly and in pairs or trip- 
lets, but all setting in one direction, probably to the 
waters of Eastern Maryland. Toward night they be- 
gin to return, flying in the same manner, and direct- 



152 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

ing their course to the wooded heights on the Poto- 
mac, west of the city. In spring these diurnal mas? 
movements cease ; the clan breaks up, the rookery is 
abandoned, and the birds scatter broadcast over the 
land. This seems to be the course everywhere pur- 
sued. One would think that, when food was scarcest, 
the policy of separating into small bands or pairs, and 
dispersing over a wide country, would prevail, as a 
few might subsist where a larger number would starve. 
The truth is, however, that in winter, food can be had 
only in certain clearly defined districts and tracts, as 
along rivers and the shores of bays and lakes. 

A few miles north of Newburg, on the Hudson, the 
crows go into winter-quarters in the same manner, 
flying south in the morning and returning again at 
night, sometimes hugging the hills so close during a 
strong wind, as to expose themselves to the clubs and 
stones of school-boys ambushed behind trees and 
fences. The belated ones, that come laboring along 
just at dusk, are often so overcome by the long jour- 
ney and the strong current, that they seem almost on 
the point of sinking down whenever the wind or a 
rise in the ground calls upon them for an extra effort. 

The turkey-buzzards are noticeable about Wash- 
ington as soon as the season begins to open, sailing 
leisurely along two or three hundred feet over head, 
i»r sweeping low over some common or open space, 
where, perchance, a dead puppy or pig or fowl has 
been thrown. Half a dozen will sometimes alight 
about some such object out on the commons, and with 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 153 

their broad dusky wings lifted up to their full extent, 
threaten and chase each other, while perhaps one or 
two are feeding. Their wings are very large and 
flexible, and the slightest motion of them, while the 
bird stands upon the ground, suffices to lift its feet 
clear. Their movements when in air are very ma- 
jestic and beautiful to the eye, being in every respect 
identical with those of our common hen or red-tailed 
hawk. They sail along in the same calm, effortless, 
interminable manner, and sweep around in the same 
ample spirals. The shape of their wings and tail, in- 
deed their entire effect against the sky, except in size 
and color, is very nearly the same as that of the hawk 
mentioned. A dozen at a time may often be seen 
high in air, amusing themselves by sailing serenely 
round and round in the same circle. 

They are less active and vigilant than the hawk ; 
never poise themselves on the wing, never dive and 
gambol in the air, and never swoop down upon their 
prey ; unlike the hawks also, they appear to have no 
enemies. The crow fights the hawk, and the king- 
bird and crow-blackbird fight the crow ; but neither 
takes any notice of the buzzard. He excites the 
enmity of none, for the reason that he molests none. 
The crow has an old grudge against the hawk, be- 
cause the hawk robs the crow's nest, and carries off 
his young ; the kingbird's quarrel with the crow is 
upon the same grounds. But the buzzard never at- 
tacks live game, or feeds upon new flesh when old 
san be had. 



154 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

In May, like the crows, they nearly all disappear 
very suddenly, probably to their breeding-haunts neai 
the sea-shore. Do the males separate from the fe- 
males at this time, and go by themselves ? At any 
rate, in July I discovered that a large number of 
buzzards roosted in some woods near Rock Creek, 
about a mile from the city limits ; and, as they do 
not nest anywhere in this vicinity, I thought they 
might be males. I happened to be detained late in 
the woods, watching the nest of a flying squirrel, when 
the buzzards, just after sundown, began to come by 
ones and twos and alight in the trees near me. Pres- 
ently they came in greater numbers, but from the 
same direction flapping low over the woods, and tak- 
ing up their position in the middle branches. On 
aligning, each one would blow very audibly through 
his nose, just as a cow does when she lies down ; this 
is tne only sound I have ever heard the buzzard 
make. They would then stretch themselves after the 
manner of turkeys, and walk along the limbs. Some- 
times h decayed branch would break under the weight 
of two or three, when, with a great flapping, they 
would take up new positions. They continued to 
come till it was quite dark, and all the trees about 
me were full. I began to feel a little nervous, but 
kept my place. After it was entirely dark and all 
was still, I gathered a large pile of dry leaves and 
kindled it with a match, to see what they would think 
*>f a fire. Not a sound was heard till the pile of 
leaves was in full blaze, when instantaneously every 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 155 

buzzard started. I thought the tree-tops were com- 
ing down upon me, so great was the uproar. But 
the woods were soon cleared, and the loathsome pack 
disappeared in the night. 

About the first of June I saw numbers of buz- 
zards sailing around over the great Falls of the Po- 
tomac. 

A glimpse of the birds usually found here in the 
latter part of winter may be had in the following ex- 
tract, which I take from my diary under date of Feb- 
ruary 4 th : — 

" Made a long excursion through the woods and 
over the hills. Went directly north from the Capi- 
tol for about three miles. The ground bare and the 
day cold and sharp. In the suburbs, among the 
scattered Irish and negro shanties, came suddenly 
upon a flock of birds, feeding about like our North- 
ern snow-buntings. Every now and then they ut- 
tered' a piping disconsolate note, as if they had a very 
sorry time of it. They proved to be shore-larks, the 
first I had ever seen. They had the walk character- 
istic of all larks ; were a little larger than the spar- 
row; had a black spot on the breast, with much 
white on the under parts of their bodies. As I ap- 
proached them the nearer ones paused, and, half 
squatting, eyed me suspiciously. Presently, at a 
movement of my arm, away they went, flying exactly 
like the snow-bunting, and showing nearly as much 
white." (I have since discovered that the shore-lark 
Is a regular visitant here in February and March, 



156 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

when large quantities of them are shot or trapped, 
and exposed for sale in the market. During a heavy 
snow I have seen numbers of them feeding upon the 
seeds of various weedy growths in a large market- 
garden well into town.) " Pressing on, the walk be- 
came exhilarating. Followed a little brook, the east- 
ern branch of the Tiber, lined with bushes and a rank 
growth of green brier. Sparrows started out here 
and there and flew across the little bends and points. 
Among some pines just beyond the boundary, saw a 
number of American goldfinches, in their gray winter 
dress, pecking the pine-cones. A golden-crowned 
kinglet was there also, a little tuft of gray feathers, 
hopping about as restless as a spirit. Had the old 
pine-trees food delicate enough for 'him also ? Far- 
ther on, in some low open woods, saw many sparrows, 
— the fox, white-throated, white-crowned, the Can- 
ada, the song, the swamp, — all herding together 
along the warm and sheltered borders. To my sur- 
prise saw a cheewink also, and the yellow-rumped 
warbler. The purple finch was there likewise, and 
the Carolina wren and brown creeper. In the higher, 
colder woods not a bird was to be seen. Returning, 
near sunset, across the eastern slope of a hill which 
overlooked the city, was delighted to see a number 
?f grass-finches or vesper sparrows ( Fringilla gram- 
inea), — birds which will be forever associated in my 
mind with my father's sheep pastures. They ran 
before me, now flitting a pace or two, now skulking 
in the low stubble, just as I had observed them when 
a boy." 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 157 

A month later, March 4th, is this note : — 
"After the second memorable inauguration of 
President Lincoln, took my first trip of the season. 
The afternoon was very clear and warm, — real ver- 
nal sunshine at last, though the wind roared like a 
lion over the woods. It seemed novel enough to find 
within two miles of the White House a simple woods- 
man chopping away as if no President was being in- 
augurated ! Some puppies, snugly nestled in the 
cavity of an old hollow tree, he said, belonged to a 
wild dog. I imagine I saw. the ' wild dog,' on the 
other side of Rock Creek, in a great state of grief 
and trepidation, running up and down, crying and 
yelping, and looking wistfully over the swollen flood, 
which the poor thing had not the courage to brave. 
This day, for the first time, I heard the song of the 
Canada sparrow, a soft, sweet note, almost running 
into a warble. Saw a small, black, velvety butterfly 
with a yellow border to its wings. Under a warm 
bank found two flowers of the houstonia in bloom. 
Saw frogs' spawn near Piny Branch, and heard the 
hyla." 

Among the first birds that make their appearance 
in Washington, is the crow-blackbird. He may come 
any time after the 1st of March. The birds congre- 
gate in large flocks, and frequent groves and parks, 
alternately swarming in the tree-tops and filling the 
air with their sharp jangle, and alighting on the 
ground in quest of food, their polished coats glisten- 
ing in the sun from very blackness, as they walk 



158 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

about. There is evidently some music in the soui 
of this bird at this season, though he makes a sad 
failure in getting it out. His voice always sounds as 
if he were laboring under a severe attack of influ- 
enza, though a large flock of them heard at a dis- 
tance on a bright afternoon of early spring, produce, 
an effect not unpleasing. The air is filled with 
crackling, splintering, spurting, semi-musical sounds, 
— which are like pepper and salt to the ear. 

All parks and public grounds about the city are 
full of blackbirds. They are especially plentiful in 
the trees about the White House, breeding there and 
waging war on all other birds. The occupants of 
one of the offices in the west wing of the Treasury 
one day had their attention attracted by some object 
striking violently against one of the window-panes. 
Looking up, they beheld a crow-blackbird pausing in 
mid-air, a few feet from the window. On the broad 
stone window-sill lay the quivering form of a purple 
finch. The little tragedy was easily read. The 
blackbird had pursued the finch with such murderous 
violence, that the latter, in its desperate efforts to es- 
cape, had sought refuge in the Treasury. The force 
of the concussion against the heavy plate-glass of the 
window had killed the poor thing instantly. The 
pursuer, no doubt astonished at the sudden and novel 
termination of the career of its victim, hovered a 
moment, as if to be sure of what had happened, and 
made off. 

(It is not unusual for birds, when thus threatened 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 159 

with destruction by their natural enemy, to become 
so terrified as to seek safety in the presence of man. 
I was once startled, while living in a country vil- 
lage, to behold, on entering my room at noon, one 
October day, a quail sitting upon my bed. The af- 
frighted and bewildered bird instantly started for the 
open window, into which it had no doubt been driven 
by a hawk.) 

The crow-blackbird has all the natural cunning of 
his prototype, the crow. In one of the inner courts 
of the Treasury building there is a fountain with sev- 
eral trees growing near. By midsummer, the black- 
birds become so bold as to venture within this court. 
Various fragments of food, tossed from the surround- 
ing windows, reward their temerity. When a crust 
of dry bread defies their beaks, they have been seen 
to drop it into the water, and when it had become 
soaked sufficiently, to take it out again. 

They build a nest of coarse sticks and mud, the 
whole burden of the enterprise seeming to devolve 
upon the female. For several successive mornings 
just after sunrise, I used to notice a pair of them fly- 
ing to and fro in the air above me, as I hoed in the 
garden, directing their course, on the one hand, to a 
marshy piece of ground about half a mile distant, 
and disappearing on their return, among the trees 
about the Capitol. Returning, the female always had 
her beak loaded with building material, while the 
male, carrying nothing, seemed to act as her escort, 
flying a little above and in advance of her, and utter- 



, 160 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

ing now and then his husky, discordant note. As I 
tossed a lump of earth up at them the frightened 
mother-bird dropped her mortar, and the pair skurried 
away, much put out. Later, they avenged themselves 
by pilferiug my cherries. 

The most mischievous enemies of the cherries, 
however, here, as at the North, are the cedar wax- 
wiugs, or " cherry -birds." How quickly they spy out 
the tree! Long before the cherry begins to turn, 
they are around, alert and cautious. In small flocks 
they circle about, high in air, uttering their fine note, 
or plunge quickly into the tops of remote trees. 
Day by day they approach nearer and nearer, recon- 
noitring the premises, and watching the growing fruit. 
Hardly have the green lobes turned a red cheek to 
the sun, before their beaks have scarred it. At first 
they approach the tree stealthily, on the side turned 
from the house, diving quickly into the branches in 
ones and twos, while the main flock is ambushed in 
some shade tree not far off. They are most apt to 
commit their depredations very early in the morning 
and on cloudy, rainy days. As the cherries grow 
sweeter the birds grow bolder, till, from throwing 
tufts of grass, one has to throw stones in good ear- 
nest, or lose all his fruit. In June they disappear, 
following the cherries to the north, where by July, 
they are nesting in the orchards and cedar groves. 

Among the permanent summer residents here (one 
might say city residents, as they seem more abun- 
dant in town than out), the yellow warbler or sum- 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 161 

nier yellow-bird is conspicuous. He comes about the 
middle of April, and seems particularly attached to 
the silver poplars. In every street, and all day long, 
one may hear his thin, sharp warble. When nesting, 
the female comes about the yard, pecking at the 
clothe thering up bits of thread to weave 

into 1 

Swi Washington from the first to 

; Idh L They come twittering along in 

.\y so familiar to every New England boy. 
The barn swallow is heard first, followed in a day or 
two by the squeaking of the cliff-swallow. The 
chimney-swallows, or swifts, are not far behind, and 
remain here, in large numbers, the whole season. 
The purple martins appear in April, as they pass 
north, and again in July and August on their return, 
accompanied by their young. 

The national capital is situated in such a vast 
spread of wild, wooded, or semi-cultivated country, 
and is in itself so open and spacious, with its parks 
and large government reservations, that an unusual 
number of birds find their way into it in the course 
of the season. Rare warblers, as the black-poll, the 
yellow red-poll, and the bay-breasted, pausing in May 
on their northward journey, pursue their insect game 
in the very heart of the town. 

I have heard the veery thrush in the trees near 

the White House ; and one rainy April morning, 

about six o'clock, he came and blew his soft, mellow 

flute in a pear-tree in my garden. The tones had all 

11 



162 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

the sweetness and wildness they have when heard in 
June in our deep Northern forests. A day or two 
afterward, in the same tree, I heard for the first time 
the song of the golden-crowned wren, or kinglet, — 
the same liquid bubble and cadence which characterize 
the wren-songs generally, but much finer and more 
delicate than the song of any other variety known to 
me ; beginning in a fine, round, needle-like note, and 
rising into a full, sustained warble ; — a strain, on the 
whole, remarkably exquisite and pleasing, the singer 
being all the while as busy as a bee, catching some 
kind of insects. If the ruby-crowned sings as well 
(and no doubt it does), Audubon's enthusiasm con- 
cerning its song, as he heard it in the wilds of Labra- 
dor, is not a bit extravagant. The song of the kinglet 
is the only characteristic that allies it to the wrens. 

The Capitol grounds, with their fine large trees of 
many varieties draw many kinds of birds. In the 
rear of the building the extensive grounds are pecul- 
iarly attractive, being a gentle slope, warm and pro- 
tected, and quite thickly wooded. Here in early 
spring I go to hear the robins, cat-birds, blackbirds, 
wrens, etc. In March the white-throated and white- 
crowned sparrows may be seen, hopping about on 
the flower-beds or peering slyly from the evergreens. 
The robin hops about freely upon the grass, notwith- 
standing the keeper's large-lettered warning, and at 
intervals, and especially at sunset, carols from the 
tree-tops his loud hearty strain. 

The kingbird and orchard starling remain the 



SPEING AT THE CAPITAL. 163 

whole season, and breed in the tree-tops. The rich, 
copious song of the starling may be heard there all 
the forenoon. The song of some birds is like scarlet, 
— strong, intense, emphatic. This is the character 
of the orchard starlings ; also of the tanagers and 
the various grossbeaks. On the other hand, the 
songs of other birds, as of certain of the thrushes, sug- 
gests the serene blue of the upper sky. 

In February, one may hear, in the Smithsonian 
grounds, the song of the fox-sparrow. It is a strong, 
richly modulated whistle, — the finest sparrow note I 
have ever heard. 

A curious and charming sound may be heard here 
in May. You are walking forth in the soft morning 
air, when suddenly there comes a burst of bobolink 
melody from some mysterious source. A score of 
throats pour out one brief, hilarious, tuneful jubilee, 
and are suddenly silent. There is a strange remote- 
ness, and fascination about it. Presently you dis- 
cover its source skyward, and a quick eye will detect 
the gay band pushing northward. They seem to 
scent the fragrant meadows afar off, and shout forth 
snatches of their songs in anticipation. 

The bobolink does not breed in the District, but 
usually pauses in his journey and feeds during the 
day in the grass-lands north of the city. When the 
season is backward, they tarry a week or ten clays, 
singing freely and appearing quite at home. In 
large flocks they search over every inch of ground, 
and at intervals hover on the wing or alight in the 



164 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

tree-tops, all pouring forth their gladness at once, 
and filling the air with a multitudinous musical 
clamor. 

They continue to pass, traveling by night, and 
feeding by day, till after the middle of May, when 
they cease. In September, with numbers greatly in- 
creased, they are on their way back. I am first ad- 
vised of their return by hearing their calls at night 
as they fly over the city. On certain nights the 
sound becomes quite noticeable. I have awakened 
in the middle of the night, and, through the open 
window, as I lay in bed, heard their faint notes. The 
warblers begin to return about the same time, and 
are clearly distinguished by their timid yeaps. On 
dark cloudy nights the birds seem confused by the 
lights of the city, and apparently wander about 
above it. 

In the spring the same curious incident is repeated, 
though but few voices can be identified. I make out 
the snow-bird, the bobolink, the warblers, and on two 
nights during the early part of May I heard very 
clearly the call of the sandpipers. 

Instead of the bobolink, one encounters here, in 
the June meadows, the black-throated bunting, a bird 
closely related to the sparrows, and a very persistent, 
if not a very musical songster. He perches upon the 
fences and upon the trees by the roadside, and, 
spreading his tail, gives forth his harsh strain, which 
may be roughly worded thus : fscp fscp,fee fee fee. 
Like all sounds associated with early ;. summei, it soon 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 165 

has a charm to the ear quite independent of its in- 
trinsic merits. 

Outside of the city limits, the great point of inter- 
est to the rambler and lover of nature is the Rock 
Creek region. Rock Creek is a large, rough, rapid 
stream, which has its source in the interior of Mary- 
land, and flows into the Potomac between Washing- 
ton and Georgetown. Its course, for five or six 
miles out of Washington, is marked by great diver- 
sity of scenery. Flowing in a deep valley, which 
now and then becomes a wild gorge with overhang- 
ing rocks and high precipitous headlands, for the 
most part wooded ; here reposing in long, dark 
reaches, there sweeping and hurrying around a sud- 
den bend or over a rocky bed ; receiving at short in- 
tervals small runs and spring rivulets, which open up 
vistas and outlooks to the right and left, of the most 
charming description, — Rock Creek has an abun- 
dance of all the elements that make up not only pleas- 
ing, but wild and rugged scenery. There is, perhaps, 
not another city in the Union that has on its very- 
threshold so much natural beauty and grandeur, such 
as men seek for in remote forests and mountains. A 
c ew touches of art would convert this whole region \ 
extending from Georgetown to what is known as 
Crystal Springs, not more than two miles from the 
present State Department, into a park unequaled by 
anything in the world. There are passages between 
these two points as wild and savage, and apparently 
as remote from civilization, as anything one meets 



, 166 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

with in the mountain sources of the Hudson or the 
Delaware. 

One of the tributaries to Rock Creek within this 
limit is called Piny Branch. It is a small, noisy 
brook, flowing through a valley of great natural 
beauty and picturesqueness, shaded nearly all the way 
by woods of oak, chestnut, and beech, and abounding 
in dark recesses and hidden retreats. 

I must not forget to mention the many springs with 
which this whole region is supplied, each the centre 
of some wild nook, perhaps the head of a little valley 
one or two hundred yards long, through which one 
catches a glimpse, or hears the voice of the main creek 
rushing along below. 

My walks tend in this direction more frequently 
than in any other. Here the boys go too, troops of 
them, of a Sunday, to bathe and prowl around, and 
indulge the semi-barbarous instincts that still lurk 
within them. Life, in all its forms, is most abundant 
near water. The rank vegetation nurtures the in- 
sects, and the insects draw the birds. The first week 
in March, on some southern slope where the sunshine 
lies warm and long, I usually find the hepatica in 
bloom, though with scarcely an inch of stalk. In the 
spring runs the skunk cabbage pushes its pike up 
through the mould, the flower appearing first, as if 
Nature had made a mistake. 

It is not till about the 1st of April that many wild- 
flowers may be looked for. By this time the hepa- 
tica, anemone, saxifrage, arbutus, houstonia, and blood- 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 167 

root may be counted on. A week later, the claytonia, 
or spring beauty, water-cress, violets, a low buttercup, 
vetch, coryclalis, and potentilla appear. These com- 
prise most of the April flowers, and may be found in 
great profusion in the Rock Creek and Piny Branch 
region. 

In each little valley or spring run some one species 
predominates. I know invariably where to look for 
the first liverwort, and where the largest and finest 
may be found. On a dry, gravelly, half-wooded hill- 
slope the birds-foot violet grows in great abundance, 
and is sparse in neighboring districts. This flower, 
which I never saw in the North, is the most beautiful 
and showy of all the violets, and calls forth rapturous 
applause from all persons who visit the woods. It 
grows in little groups and clusters, and bears a close 
resemblance to the pansies of the gardens. Its two 
purple, velvety petals seem to fall over tiny shoulders 
like a rich cape. 

On the same slope, and on no other, I go about the 
1st of May for lupine, or sun-dial, which makes the 
ground look blue from a little distance ; on the other, 
or northern side of the slope, the arbutus, during the 
first half of April, perfumes the wild-wood air. A 
few paces farther on, in the bottom of a little spring 
run, the mandrake shades the ground with its minia- 
ture umbrellas. It begins to push its green finger- 
joints up through the ground by the 1st of April, but 
is not in bloom till the 1st of May. It has a single 
:vhite, wax-like flower, with a sweet, sickish odor, 



168 SPKING AT THE CAPITAL. 

growing immediately beneath its broad leafy top. By 
the same run grow water-cresses and two kinds of 
anemones, — the Pennsylvania and the grove anem- 
one. The bloodroot is very common at the foot of al 
most every warm slope in the Rock Creek woods, and, 
where the wind has tucked it up well with the cover- 
lid of dry leaves, makes its appearance almost as soon 
as the liverwort. It is singular how little warmth is 
necessary to encourage these earlier flowers to put 
forth ! It would seem as if some influence must come 
on in advance underground and get things ready, so 
that when the outside temperature is propitious, they 
at once venture out. I have found the bloodroot 
when it was still freezing two or three nights in the 
week ; and have known at least three varieties of 
early flowers to be buried in eight inches of snow. 

Another abundant flower in the Rock Creek region 
is the spring beauty. Like most others it grows in 
streaks. A few paces from where your attention is 
monopolized by violets or arbutus, it is arrested by 
the elaytonia, growing in such profusion that it is im- 
possible to set the foot down without crushing the 
flowers. Only the forenoon walke m in all 

.heir beauty, as later in the day th closed, 

and their pretty heads drooped in fn only 

one locality do I find the ladies'-slipp yellow 

variety. The flowers that overleap all "n this 

section are the houstonias. By the 1st of April they 
are very noticeable in warm, damp pi; g the 

borders of the woods and in half-cleared fields, but by 



SPRING IT THE CAPITAL. 169 

May these localities ire clouded with them. They 
become visible from the highway across wide fields, 
arid look like little puffs of smoke clinging close to 
the ground. 

On the 1st of May I go to the Rock Creek or Piny 
Branch region to hear the wood-thrush. I always 
find him by this date leisurely chanting his lofty 
strain ; other thrushes are seen now also, or even 
earlier, as Wilson's, the olive-backed, the hermit, — 
the two latter silent, but the former musical. 

Occasionally in the earlier part of May I find the 
woods literally swarming with warblers, exploring 
every branch and leaf, from the tallest tulip to the 
lowest spice-bush, so urgent is the demand for food 
during their long Northern journeys. At night they 
are up and away. Some varieties, as the blue yellow- 
back, the chestnut-sided, and the Blackburnian, during 
their brief stay, sing nearly as freely as in their breed- 
ing haunts. For two or three years I have chanced 
to meet little companies of the bay -breasted warbler, 
searching for food in an oak wood, on an elevated 
piece of ground. They kept well up among the 
branches, were rather slow in their movements, and 
evidently disposed to tarry but a short time. 

The summer residents here, belonging to this class 
of birds, are few. I have observed the black and 
•vkite creeping warbler, the Kentucky warbler, the 
worm eating warbler, the redstart, and the gnat- 
satcher, breeding near Rock Creek. 

Of these the Kentucky warbler is by far the most 



170 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

interesting, though quite rare. I meet with him in 
low, damp places in the woods, usually on the steep 
sides of some little run. I hear at intervals a clear, 
strong, bell-like whistle or warble, and presently catch 
a glimpse of the bird as he jumps up from the ground 
to take an insect or worm from the under side of a 
leaf. This is his characteristic movement. He be- 
longs to the class of ground warblers, and his range 
is very low, indeed lower than that of any other 
species with which I am acquainted. He is on the 
ground nearly all the time, moving rapidly along, 
taking spiders and "bugs, overturning leaves, peeping 
under sticks and into crevices, and every now and 
then leaping up eight or ten inches, to take his game 
from beneath some overhanging leaf or branch. Thus 
each species has its range more or less marked. Draw 
a line three feet from the ground, and you mark the 
usual limit of the Kentucky warbler's quest for food. 
Six or eight feet higher bounds the usual range of 
suet birds as the worm-eating warbler, the mourning 
ground warbler, the Maryland yellow-throat. The 
lower branches of the higher growths and the higher 
branches of the lower growths are plainly preferred 
by the black-throated blue-backed warbler, in those 
* ocalities where he is found. The thrushes feed mostly 
on and near the ground, while some of the vjreos and 
the true fly-catchers explore the highest branches. 
But the Sylviadae, as a rule, are all partial to thick, 
rank undergrowths. 

The Kentucky warbler is a large bird for the genus, 



SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 171 

and quite notable in appearance. His back is clear 
olive-green ; bis throat and breast bright yellow. A 
still more prominent feature is a black streak on the 
side of the face, extending down the neck. 

Another familiar bird here, which I never met with 
in the North, is the gnatcatcher, called by Audubon 
the blue gray fly-catching warbler. In form and man- 
ner it seems almost a duplicate of the cat-bird, on a 
small scale. It mews like a young kitten, erects its 
tail, flirts, droops its wings, goes through a variety, of 
motions when disturbed by your presence, and in 
many ways recalls its dusky prototype. Its color 
above is a light, gray blue, gradually fading till it 
becomes white on the breast and belly. It is a very 
small bird, and has a long, facile, slender tail. Its 
song is a lisping, chattering, incoherent warble, now 
faintly reminding one of the goldfinch, now of a min- 
iature cat-bird, then of a tiny yellow-hammer, having 
much variety, but no unity, and little cadence. 

Another bird which has interested me here is the 
Louisiana water-thrush, called also large-billed water- 
thrush, and water-wagtail. It is one of a trio of birds 
which has confused the ornithologists much. The 
other two species are the well-known golden-crowned 
thrush (Sciurus aurocapillus) or wood-wagtail, and 
the Northern, or small, water-thrush {Sciurus nove- 
boracensis). 

The present species, though not abundant, is fre- 
quently met with along Rock Creek. It is a very 
quick, vivacious bird, and belongs to the class of ec- 



172 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

static singers. I have seen a pair of these thrushes, 
on a bright May day, flying to and fro between two 
spring runs, alighting at intermediate points, the male 
breaking out into one of the most exuberant, unpre- 
meditated strains I ever heard. Its song is a sudden 
burst, beginning with three or four clear round notes 
much resembling certain tones of the clarionet, and 
terminating in a rapid, intricate warble. 

This bird resembles a thrush only in its color, 
which is olive-brown above, and grayish-white be- 
neath, with speckled throat and breast. Its habits, 
manners, and voice suggest those of the lark. 

I seldom go the Rock Creek route without being 
amused and sometimes annoyed by the yellow-breasted 
chat. This bird also has something of the manners 
and build of the cat-bird, yet he is truly an original. 
The cat-bird is mild and feminine compared with this 
rollicking polyglot. His voice is very loud and strong 
and quite uncanny. No sooner have you penetrated 
his retreat, which is usually a thick undergrowth in 
low, wet localities, near the woods or in old fields, 
than he begins his serenade, which for the variety, 
grotesqueness, and uncouthness of the notes, is not 
unlike a country sldmmerton. If one passes directly 
along, the bird may scarcely break the silence. But 
pause a while or loiter quietly about, and your presence 
stimulates him to do his best. He peeps quizzically 
at you from beneath the branches, and gives a sharp 
feline mew. In a moment more he says very dis- 
tinctly, who, who. Then in rapid succession follow 



SPKING AT THE CAPITAL. 17S 

notes the most discordant that ever broke the sylvan 
silence. Now he barks like a puppy, then quacks 
like a duke, then rattles like a kingfisher, then squalls 
like a fox, then caws like a crow, then mews like a 
cat. Now he calls as if to be heard a long way off, 
then changes his key, as if addressing the specta- 
tor. Though very shy, and carefully keeping himself 
screened when you show any disposition to get a bet- 
ter view, he will presently, if you remain quiet, ascend 
a twig, or hop out on a branch in plain sight, lop his 
tail, droop his wings, cock his head, and become very 
melodramatic. In less than half a minute he darts 
into the bushes again, and again tunes up, no French- 
man rolling his r's so fluently. G-r-r-r-r-r, — whrr, 
— that 's it, — chee, — quack, check, — yit-yit-yit, — 
now hit it, — tr-r-r-r, — when, — caw, caw, — cut, 
cut, — tea-boy, — who, who, — mew, mew, — and so on 
till you are tired of listening. Observing one very 
closely one day, I discovered that he was limited to 
six notes or changes, which he went through in reg- 
ular order, scarcely varying a note in a dozen repe- 
titions. Sometimes, when a considerable distance off, 
he will fly down to have a nearer view of you. And 
such a curious, expressive flight, — legs extended, 
head lowered, wings rapidly vibrating, the whole 
action piquant and droll ! 

The chat is an elegant bird both in form and color. 
Its plumage is remarkably firm and compact. Color 
above, light olive-green ; beneath, bright yellow ; 
beak, black and strong. 



174 SPRING AT THE CAPITAL. 

The cardinal grossbeak, or Virginia red-bird, is 
quite common in the same localities, though more in- 
clined to seek the woods. It is much sought after 
by bird-fanciers, and by boy gunners, and conse- 
quently is very shy. This bird suggests a British 
red-coat ; his heavy, pointed beak, his high cockade, 
the black stripe down his face, the expression of 
weight and massiveness about v his head and neck, and 
his erect attitude, give him a decided soldierlike ap- 
pearance ; and there is something of the tone of the 
fife in his song or whistle, while his ordinary note, 
when disturbed, is like the clink of a sabre. Yester- 
day, as I sat indolently swinging in the loop of a 
grape-vine, beneath a thick canopy of green branches, 
in a secluded nook by a spring run, one of these birds 
came pursuing some kind of insect, but a few feet 
above me. He hopped about, now and then uttering 
his sharp note, till, some moth or beetle trying to 
escape, he broke clown through the cover almost 
where I sat. The effect was like a firebrand coming 
down through the branches. Instantly catching sight 
of me, he darted away much alarmed. The female is 
tinged with brown, and shows but little red except 
when she takes flight. 

By far the most abundant species of woodpecker 
about Washington is the red-headed. It is more 
common than the robin. Not in the deep woods, but 
among the scattered dilapidated oaks and groves, on 
the hills and in the fields, I hear, almost every day, 
his uncanny note, ktr-rr, ktr-r-r, like that of some 



SPEING AT THE CAPITAL. 175 

larger tree-toad, proceeding from an oak grove just 
beyond the boundary. He is a strong scented fellow 
and very tough. Yet how beautiful, as he flits about 
the open woods, connecting the trees by a gentle arc 
of crimson and white ! This is another bird with a 
military look. His deliberate, dignified ways, and his 
bright uniform of red, white, and steel-blue, bespeak 
him an officer of rank. 

Another favorite beat of mine is northeast of the 
city. Looking from the Capitol in this direction, 
scarcely more than a mile distant, you see a broad 
green hill-slope, falling very gently, and spreading 
into a large expanse of meadow-land. The summit, 
if so gentle a swell of greensward may be said to have 
a summit, is covered with a grove of large oaks ; and, 
sweeping back out of sight like a mantle, the front 
line of a thick forest bounds the sides. This emerald 
landscape is seen from a number of points in the city. 
Looking along New York Avenue from Northern 
Liberty Market, the eye glances, as it were, from the 
r>ed clay of the street, and alights upon this fresh 
scene in the distance. It is a standing invitation to 
the citizen to come forth and be refreshed. As I turn 
from some hot, hard street, how inviting it looks ! I 
bathe my eyes in it as in a fountain. Sometimes 
troops of cattle are seen grazing upon it. In June 
the gathering of the hay may be witnessed. When 
\he ground is covered with snow, numerous stacks, or 
clusters of stacks, are still left for the eye to contem- 
plate. 



176 SPRING AT THE CAPI I 

The woods which cloth- the east side of this hill, 
and sweep away to the east, are among the most 
charming to be found in the District. The main 
growth is oak and chestnut, with a thin sprinkling 
of laurel, azelia, and dogwood. It is the only locality 
in which I have found the dog-tooth violet in bloom, 
and the best place I know of to gather arbutus. On 
one slope the ground is covered with moss, through 
which the arbutus trails its glories. 

Emerging from these woods toward the city, one 
sees the white dome of the Capitol soaring over the 
green swell of earth immediately in front, and lifting 
its four thousand tons of iron gracefully and lightly 
into the air. Of all the sights in Washington, that 
which will survive longest in my memory is the 
vision of the great dome thus rising cloud-like above 
the hills. 




Pe\ 



BIRCH BEOWSINGS. 




Cardinal Grossbeak. 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 



The region of which I am about to speak lies in 
the southern part of the State of New York, and 
comprises parts of three counties, — Ulster, Sullivan, 
and Delaware. It is drained by tributaries of both 
the Hudson and Delaware, and, next to the Adiron- 
dac section, contains more wild land than any other 
tract in the State. The mountains which traverse it, 
and impart to it its severe northern climate, belong 
properly to the Catskill range. On some maps of 
the State they are called the Pine Mountains, though 
with obvious local impropriety, as pine, so far as I 



180 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

nave observed, is nowhere found upon them. " Birch 
Mountains" would be a more characteristic name, as 
on their summits birch is the prevailing tree. They 
are the natural home of the black and yellow birch, 
which grow here to unusual size. On their sides 
beech and maple abound ; while mantling their lower 
slopes, and darkening the valleys, hemlock formerly 
enticed the lumberman and tanner. Except in re- 
mote or inaccessible localities, the latter tree is now 
almost never found. In Shandaken and along the 
Esopus, it is about the only product the country 
yielded, or is likely to yield. Tanneries by the score 
have arisen and flourished upon the bark, and some 
of them still remain. Passing through that region 
the present season, I saw that the few patches of 
hemlock that still lingered high up on the sides of 
the mountains were being felled and peeled, the fresh 
white bowls of the trees, just stripped of their bark, 
being visible a loner distance. 

Among these mountains there are no sharp peaks, 
or abrupt declivities, as in a volcanic region, but long, 
uniform ranges, heavily timbered to their summits, 
and delighting the eye with vast, undulating horizon 
lines. Looking south from the heights about the 
head of the Delaware, one sees, twenty miles away, 
a continual succession of blue ranges, one behind the 
other. If a few large trees are missing on the sky 
line, one can see the break a long distance off. 

Approaching this region from the Hudson River 
side, you cross a rough, rolling stretch of country, 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 181 

skirting the base of the Catskills, which from a point 
near Saugerties sweep inland ; after a drive of a few 
hours you are within the shadow of a high, bold 
mountain, which forms a sort of but-end to this part 
of the range, and which is simply called High Point. 
To the east and southeast it slopes down rapidly to 
the plain, and looks defiance toward the Hudson, 
twenty miles distant; in the rear of it, and radiating 
from it west and northwest, are numerous smaller 
ranges, backing up, as it were, this haughty chief. 

From this point through to Pennsylvania, a dis- 
tance of nearly one hundred miles, stretches the tract 
of which I speak. It is a belt of country from twenty 
to thirty miles wide, bleak and wild, and but sparsely 
settled. The traveler on the New York and Erie 
Railroad gets a glimjjse of it. 

Many cold, rapid trout streams, which flow to all 
points of the compass, have their source in the small 
lakes and copious mountain springs of this region. 
The names of some of them are Mill Brook, Dry 
Brook, Willewemack, Beaver Kill, Elk Bush Kill, 
Panther Kill, Neversink, Big Ingin, and Callikoon. 
Beaver Kill is the main outlet on the west. It joins 
the Delaware in the wilds of Hancock. The Never- 
sink lays open the region to the south, and also joins 
the Delaware. To the east, various Kills unite with 
the Big Ingin to form the Esopus, which flows into 
the Hudson. Dry Brook and Mill Brook, both fa- 
mous trout streams, from twelve to fifteen miles Ions: 
find their way into the Delaware. 



182 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

The east or Pepacton branch of the Delaware it- 
self takes its rise near here, in a deep pass between 
the mountains. I have many times drunk at a copious 
spring by the roadside, where the infant river first sees 
the light. A few yards beyond, the water flows the 
other way, directing its course through the Bgar Kill 
and Schoharie Kill into the Mohawk. 

Such game and wild animals as still linger in the 
State, are found in this region. Bears occasionally 
make havoc among the sheep. The clearings at the 
head of a valley are oftenest the scene of their depre- 
dations. 

Wild pigeons, in immense numbers, used to breed 
regularly in the valley of the Big Ingin and about 
the head of the Neversink. The tree-tops for miles 
were full of their nests, while the going and coming 
of the old birds kept up a constant din. But the 
gunners soon got wind of it, and from far and near 
were wont to pour in during the spring, and to 
slaughter both old and young. This practice soon 
had the effect of driving the pigeons all away, and 
now only a few pairs breed in these woods. 

Deer are still met with, though they are becoming 
scarcer every year. Last winter near seventy head 
were killed on the Beaver Kill alone. I heard of 
one wretch, who, finding the deer snowbound, walked 
up to them on his snowshoes, and one morning be- 
fore breakfast slaughtered six, leaving their carcasses 
where they fell. There are traditions of persons 
having been smitten blind or senseless when about to 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 188 

commit some heinous offense, but the fact that this 
villain escaped without some such visitation throws 
discredit on all such stories. 

The great attraction, however, of this region, is the 
brook trout, with which the streams and lakes abound. 
The water is of excessive coldness, the thermometer 
indicating 44° and 45° in the springs, and 47° or 
48° in the smaller streams. The trout are generally 
small, but in the more remote branches their number 
is very great. In such localities the fish are quite 
olack, but in the lakes they are of a lustre and brill- 
iancy impossible to describe. 

These waters have been much visited of late years 
by fishing parties, and the name of Beaver Kill is 
now a potent word among New York sportsmen. 

One lake, in the wilds of Callikoon, abounds in a 
peculiar species of white sucker, which is of excellent 
quality. It is taken only in spring, during the 
spawning season, at the time " when the leaves are 
as big as a chipmunk's ears." The fish run up the 
small streams and inlets, beginning at nightfall, and 
continuing till the channel is literally packed with 
them, and every inch of space is occupied. The 
fishermen pounce upon them at such times, and scoop 
them up by the bushel, usually wading right into the 
living mass and landing the fish with their hands. 
A small party will often secure in this manner a 
wagon load of fish. Certain conditions of the 
weather, as a warm south or southwest wind, are 
considered most favorable for the fish to run. 



184 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 



Though familiar all ray life with the outskirts of 
this region, I have only twice dipped into its wilder 
portions. Once in 1860 a friend and myself traced 
the Beaver Kill to its source, and encamped by Bal- 
sam Lake. A cold and protracted rain-storm coming 
on, we were obliged to leave the woods before we 
were ready. Neither of us will soon forget that 
tramp by an unknown route over the mountains, en- 
cumbered as we were with a hundred and one super- 
fluities which we had foolishly brought along to solace 
ourselves with in the woods ; nor that halt on the 
summit, where we cooked and ate our fish in a driz- 
zling rain ; nor, again, that rude log-house, with its 
sweet hospitality, which we reached just at nighfall 
on Mill Brook. 

In 1868 a party of three of us set out for a brief 
trouting excursion, to a body of water called Thomas's 
Lake, situated in the same chain of mountains. On 
this excursion, more particularly than on any other 
I have ever undertaken, I was taught how poor an 
Indian I should make, and what a ridiculous figure a 
party of men may cut in the woods when the way is 
uncertain and the mountains high. 

We left our team at a farm-house near the head of 
the Mill Brook, one June afternoon, and with knap- 
sacks on our shoulders struck into the woods at the 
base of the mountain, hoping to cross the range that 
intervened between us and the lake by sunset. We 
engaged a good-natured, but rather indolent young 
man, who happened to be stopping at the house, and 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 185 

who had carried a knapsack in the Union armies, to 
pilot ns a couple of miles into the woods so as to 
guard against any mistakes at the outset. It seemed 
the easiest thing in the world to find the lake. The 
lay of the land was so simple, according to accounts, 
that I felt sure I could go to it in the dark. " Go up 
this little brook to its source on the side of the mount- 
ain," they said. " The valley that contains the lake 
heads directly on the other side." What could be 
easier ! But on a little further inquiry, they said we 
should " bear well to the left " when we reached the 
top of the mountain. This opened the doors again ; 
" bearing well to the left " was an uncertain perform- 
ance in strange woods. We might bear so well to 
the left that it would bring us ill. But why bear to 
the left at all, if the lake was directly opposite ? 
Well, not quite opposite ; a little to the left. There 
were two or three other valleys that headed in near 
there. We could easily find the right one. But to 
make assurance doubly sure, we engaged a guide, as 
stated, to give us a good start, arid go with us beyond 
the bearing- to-the-1 eft point. He had been to the 
lake the winter before and knew the way. Our 
course, the first half-hour, was along an obscure 
wood-road which had been used for drawing ash logs 
off the mountain in winter. There was some hem- 
lock, but more maple and birch. The woods were 
dense and free from underbrush, the ascent gradual. 
Most of the way we kept the voice of the creek in 
our ear on the right. I approached it once, and 



186 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

found it swarming with trout. The water was as 
cold as one ever need wish. After a while the ascent 
grew steeper, the creek became a mere rill that issued 
from beneath loose, moss-covered rocks and stones, 
and with much labor and puffing we drew ourselves 
up the rugged declivity. Every mountain has its 
steepest point, which is usually near the summit, in 
keeping, I suppose, with the providence that makes 
the darkest hour just before day. It is steep, steeper, 
steepest, till you emerge on the smooth, level or 
gently rounded space at the top, which the old ice- 
gods polished off so long ago. 

We found this mountain had a hollow in its back 
where the ground was soft and swampy. Some gi- 
gantic ferns, which we passed through, came nearly 
to our shoulders. We passed also several patches of 
swamp honeysuckles, red with blossoms. 

Our guide at length paused on a big rock where 
the land began to dip down the other way, and con- 
cluded that he had gone far enough, and that we 
would now have no difficulty in finding the lake. " It 
must lie right down there," he said, pointing with his 
hand. But it was plain that he was not quite sure in 
his own mind. He had several times wavered in his 



when bearing to the left across the summit. Still 
we thought little of it. We were full of confidence, 
and, bidding him adieu, plunged down the mountain- 
side, following a spring run that we had no doubt led 
to the lake. 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 187 

In these woods, which had a southeastern expos- 
ure, I first began to notice the wood-thrush. In 
coming up the other side I had not seen a feathei 
of any kind, or heard a note. Now the golden 
trillide-de of the wood thrush sounded through the 
silent woods. While looking for a fish-pole about 
half-way down the mountain, I saw a thrush's nest in 
a little sapling about ten feet from the ground. 

After continuing our descent till our only guide, 
the spring run, became quite a trout brook, and its 
tiny murmur a loud brawl, we began to peer anx- 
iously through the trees for a glimpse of the lake, or 
for some conformation of the land that would indicate 
its proximity. An object which we vaguely discerned 
in looking under the near trees and over the more 
distant ones, proved, on further inspection, to be a 
patch of ploughed ground. Presently we made out a 
burnt fallow near it. This was a wet blanket to our 
enthusiasm. No lake, no sport, no trout for supper 
that night. The rather indolent young man had 
either played us a trick, or, as seemed more likely, 
had missed the way. We were particularly anxious 
to be at the lake between sundown and dark, as at 
that time the trout jump most freely. 

Pushing on, we soon emerged into a stumpy field, 
at the head of a steep valley, which swept around 
toward the west. About two hundred rods below us 
was a rude log-house, with smoke issuing from the 
chimney. A boy came out and moved toward the 
epring with a pail in his hand. We shouted to him, 



188 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

when lie turned and ran back into the house without 
pausing to reply. In a moment the whole family 
hastily rushed into the yard, and turned their faces 
toward us. If we had come down their chimney, they 
could not have seemed more astonished. Not making 
out what they said, I went down to the house, and 
learned to my chagrin that we were still on the Mill 
Brook side, having crossed only a spur of the mount- 
ain. We had not borne sufficiently to the left, so 
that the main range, which, at the point of crossing, 
suddenly breaks off to the southeast, still intervened 
between us and the lake. We were about five miles, 
as the water runs, from the point of starting, and over 
two from the lake. We must go directly back to the 
top of the range where the guide had left us, and 
then, by keeping well to the left, we would soon come 
to a line of marked trees, which would lead us to the 
lake. So turning upon our trail, we doggedly began 
the work of undoing what we had just done. — in all 
cases a disagreeable task, in this case a very laborious 
one also. It was after sunset when we turned back, 
and before we had got half-way up the mountain it 
began to be quite dark. We were often obliged to 
rest our packs against trees and take breath, which 
made our progress slow. Finally a halt was called, 
beside an immense flat rock which had paused in its 
blide down the mountain, and we prepared to encamp 
for the night. A fire was built, the rock cleared off, 
a small ration of bread served out, our accoutrements 
hung up out of the way of the hedgehogs that were 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 189 

supposed to infest the locality, and then we disposed 
ourselves for sleep. If the owls or porcupines (and 
I think I heard one of the latter in the middle of the 
night) reconnoitred our camp, they saw a buffalo 
robe spread upon a rock, with three old felt hats ar- 
ranged on one side, and three pairs of sorry-looking 
cowhide boots protruding from the other. 

When we lay down, there was apparently not a 
mosquito in the woods ; but the " no-see-ems," as 
Thoreau's Indian aptly named the midges, soon found 
us out, and after the fire had gone down annoyed us 
much. My hands and wrists suddenly began to smart 
and itch in a most unaccountable manner. My first 
thought was that they had been poisoned in some way. 
Then the smarting extended to my neck and face, 
even to my scalp, when I began to suspect what was 
the matter. So wrapping myself up more thoroughly, 
and stowing my hands away as best I could, I tried 
to sleep, being some time behind my companions, who 
appeared not to mind the " no-see-ems." I was fur- 
ther annoyed by some little irregularity on my side 
of the couch. The chambermaid had not beaten it 
up well. One huge lump refused to be mollified, and 
each attempt to adapt it to some natural hollow in 
my own body brought only a moment's relief. But 
at last I got the better of this also and slept. . Late 
in the night I woke up, just in time to hear a golden- 
crowned thrush sing in a tree near by. It sang as 
t oud and cheerily as at midday, and I thought myself, 
after all, quite in luck. Birds occasionally sing at 



190 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

nignt, just as the cock crows. I have heard the hair 
bird, and the note of the king-bird ; and the ruffed 
grouse frequently drums at night. 

At the first faint signs of day, a wood-thrush sang 
a few rods below us. Then after a little delay, as 
the gray light began to grow around, thrushes broke 
out in full song in all parts of the woods. I thought 
I had never before heard them sing so sweetly. Such 
a leisurely, golden chant 1 — it consoled us for all we 
had undergone. It was the first thing in order, — 
the worms were safe till after this morning chorus. 
I judged that the birds roosted but a few feet from 
the ground. In fact, a bird in all cases roosts where 
it builds, and the wood-thrush occupies, as it were, 
the first story of the woods. 

There is something singular about the distribution 
of the wood-thrushes. At an earlier stage of my ob- 
servations I should have been much surprised at find- 
ing it in these woods. Indeed, I had stated in print 
on two occasions that the wood-thrush was not found 
in the higher lands of the Catskills, but that the her- 
mit-thrush and the veery, or Wilson's thrush, were 
common. It turns out that this statement is only 
half true. The wood-thrush is found also, but is 
much more rare and secluded in its habits than either 
of the others, being seen only during the breeding 
season on remote mountains, and then only on their 
eastern and southern slopes. I have never yet in 
this region found the bird spending the season in the 
near and familiar woods, which is directly contrary 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 191 

to observations I have made in other parts of the 
State. So different are the habits of birds in differ- 
ent localities. 

As soon as it was fairly light we were up and 
ready to resume our march. A small bit of bread- 
and-butter and a swallow or two of whiskey was all 
we had for breakfast that morning. Our supply of 
each was very limited, and we were anxious to save 
a little of both, to relieve the diet of trout to .which 
we looked forward. 

At an early hour we reached the rock where we 
had parted with the guide, and looked around us into 
the dense, trackless woods with many misgivings. 
To strike out now on our own hook, where the way 
was so blind and after the experience we had just had? 
was a step not to be carelessly taken. The tops of 
these mountains are so broad, and a short distance in 
the woods seems so far, that one is by no means mas- 
ter of the situation after reaching the summit. And 
then there are so many spurs and offshoots and 
changes of direction, added to the impossibility of 
making any generalization by the aid of the eye, that 
before one is aware of it he is very wide of his mark. 

I remembered now that a young farmer of my ac- 
quaintance had told me how he had made a long day's 
march through the heart of this region, without path 
or guide of any kind, and had hit his mark squarely. 
He had been bark-peeling in Callikoon, — a famous 
country for bark, — and, having got enough of it, he 
desired to reach his home on Dry Brook without 



192 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

making the usual circuitous journey between the two 
places. To do this necessitated a march of ten or 
twelve miles across several ranges of mountains and 
through an unbroken forest, — a hazardous under- 
taking in which no one would join him. Even the 
old hunters who were familiar with the ground dis- 
suaded him and predicted the failure of his enterprise. 
But having made up his mind, he possessed himself 
thoroughly of the topography of the country from the 
aforesaid hunters, shouldered his axe, and set out, 
holding a straight course through the woods, and 
turning aside for neither swamps, streams, nor mount- 
ains. When he paused to rest he would mark some 
object ahead of him with his eye, in order that on 
getting up again he might not deviate from his 
course. His directors had told him of a hunter's 
cabin about midway on his route, which if he struck 
he might be sure he was right. About noon this 
cabin was reached, and at sunset he emerged at the 
head of Dry Brook. 

After looking in vain for the line of marked trees, 
we moved off to the the left in a doubtful, hesitating 
manner, keeping on the highest ground and blazing 
the trees as we went. We were afraid to go down 
hill, lest we should descend too soon ; our vantage- 
ground was high ground. A thick fog coming on, 
we were more bewildered than ever. Still we pressed 
forward, climbing up ledges and wading through 
ferns for about two hours, when we paused by a 
spring that issued from beneath an immense wall of 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 193 

rock that belted the highest part of the mountain. 
There was quite a broad plateau here, and the birch 
wood was very dense, and the trees of unusual size. 

After resting and exchanging opinions, we all con- 
cluded that it was best not to continue our search en- 
cumbered as we were ; but we were not willing to 
abandon it altogether, and I proposed to my com- 
panions to leave them beside the spring with our 
traps, while I made one thorough and final effort to 
find the lake. If I succeeded and desired them to 
come forward, I was to fire my gun three times ; if I 
failed and wished to return, I would fire it twice, they, 
of course responding. 

So filling my canteen from the spring, I set out 
again, taking the spring run for my guide. Before I 
had followed it two hundred yards it sank into the 
ground at my feet. I had half a mind to be super- 
stitious and to believe that we were under a spell, 
since our guides played us such tricks. However, I 
determined to put the matter to a further test, and 
struck out boldly to the left. This seemed to be the 
keyword, — to the left, to the left. The fog had now 
lifted, so that I could form a better idea of the lay of 
the land. Twice I looked down the steep sides of 
the mountain, sorely tempted to risk a plunge. Still 
I hesitated and kept along on the brink. As I stood 
on a rock deliberating, I heard a crackling of the 
brush, like the tread of some large game, on a plateau 
below me. Suspecting the truth of the case, I moved 
stealthily down, and found a herd of young cattle 
13 



194 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

leisurely browsing. We had several times crossed 
their trail, and had seen that morning a level, grassy 
place on the top of the mountain, where they had 
passed the night. Instead of being frightened, as I 
had expected, they seemed greatly delighted, and 
gathered around me as if to inquire the tidings from 
the outer world, — perhaps the quotations of the cat- 
tle market. They came up to me, and eagerly licked 
my hand, clothes, and gun. Salt was what they were 
after, and they were ready to swallow anything that 
contained the smallest percentage of it. They were 
mostly yearlings and as sleek as moles. They had a 
very gamy look. We were afterwards told that, in 
the spring, the farmers round about turn into these 
woods their young cattle, which do not come out again 
till fall. They are then in good condition, — not fat, 
like grass-fed cattle, but trim and supple, like deer. 
Once a month the owner hunts them up and salts 
them. They have their beats, and seldom wander 
beyond well-defined limits. It was interesting to see 
them feed. They browsed on the low limbs and 
bushes, and on the various plants, munching at every- 
thing without any apparent discrimination. 

They attempted to follow me, but I escaped them 
by clambering down some steep rocks. I now found 
myself gradually edging down the side of the mount- 
ain, keeping around it in a spiral manner, and scan- 
ning the woods and the shape of the ground for some 
encouraging hint or sign. Finally the woods became 
more open, and the descent less rapid. The trees 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 195 

were remarkably straight and uniform in size. Black 
birches, the first I had seen, were very numerous. I 
felt encouraged. Listening attentively, I caught 
from a breeze just lifting the drooping leaves, a 
sound that I willingly believed was made by a bull- 
frog. On this hint, I tore down through the woods 
at my highest speed. Then I paused and listened 
again. This time there was no mistaking it ; it was 
the sound of frogs. Much elated, I rushed on. By 
and by I could hear them as I ran. Pthrung,pthrung, 
croaked the old ones ; pug, pug, shrilly joined in the 
smaller fry. 

Then I caught, through the lower trees, a gleam 
of blue, which I first thought was distant sky. A sec- 
ond look and I knew it to be water, and in a moment 
more I stepped from the woods and stood upon the 
shore of the lake. I exulted silently. There it was 
at last, sparkling in the morning sun, and as beautiful 
as a dream. It was so good to come upon such open 
space and such bright hues, after wandering in the 
dim, dense woods ! The eye is as delighted as an es- 
caped bird, and darts gleefully from point to point. 

The lake was a long oval, scarcely more than a 
mile in circumference, with evenly wooded shores, 
which rose gradually on all sides. After contem- 
plating the scene for a moment, I stepped back into 
the woods and loading my gun as heavily as I dared, 
discharged it three times. The reports seemed to fill 
all the mountains with sound. The frogs quickly 
hushed, and I listened for the response. But no re- 



196 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

sponse came. Then I tried again, and again, but 
without evoking an answer. One of rny companions, 
however, who had climbed to the top of the high 
rocks in the rear of the spring thought he heard 
faintly one report. It seemed an immense distance 
below him, and far around under the mountain. I 
knew I had come a long way, and hardly expected to 
be able to communicate with my companions in the 
manner agreed upon. I therefore started back, choos- 
ing my course without any reference to the circuitous 
route by which I had come, and loading heavily and 
firing at intervals. I must have aroused many long- 
dormant echoes from a Eip Van Winkle sleep. As 
my powder got low, I fired and halloed alternately, 
till I came near splitting both my throat and gun. 
Finally, after I had begun to have a very ugly feel- 
/ng of alarm and disappointment, and to cast about 
vaguely for some course to pursue in the emergency 
that seemed near at hand, — namely, the loss of my 
companions now I had found the lake, — a favoring 
breeze brought me the last echo of a response. I re- 
joined with spirit, and hastened with all speed in the 
direction whence the sound had come, but after re- 
peated trials, failed to elicit another answering sound. 
This filled me with apprehension again. I feared 
that my friends had been misled by the reverber- 
ations, and I pictured them to myself hastening in the 
opposite direction. Paying little attention to my 
course, but paying dearly for my carelessness after- 
Ward, I rushed forward to undeceive them. But they 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 197 

had not been deceived, and in a few moments an an- 
swering shout revealed them near at hand. I heard 
their tramp, the bushes parted, and we three met 
again. 

In answer to their eager inquiries, I assured them 
that I had seen the lake, that it was at the foot of the 
mountain, and that we could not miss it if we kept 
straight down from where we then were. 

My clothes were soaked with perspiration, but I 
shouldered my knapsack with alacrity, and we began 
the descent. I noticed that the woods were much 
thicker, and had quite a different look from those I 
had passed through, but thought nothing of it, as I 
expected to strike the lake near its head, whereas I 
had before come out at its foot. We had not gone 
far when we crossed a line of marked trees, which my 
companions were disposed to follow. It intersected 
our course nearly at right angles, and kept along and 
up the side of the mountain. My impression was that 
it led up from the lake, and that by keeping our own 
course we should reach the lake sooner than if we 
followed this line. 

About half-way down the mountain, we could see 
through the interstices the opposite slope. I encour- 
aged my comrades by telling them that the lake was 
between us and that, and not more than half a mile 
distant. We soon reached the bottom, where we 
f ound a small stream and quite an extensive alder- 
swamp, evidently the ancient bed of a lake. I ex- 
plained to my half-vexed and half-incredulous com- 



198 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

panions that we were* probably above the lake, and 
that this stream must lead to it. " Follow it," they 
said ; " we will wait here till we hear from you." 

So I went on, more than ever disposed to believe 
that we were under a spell, and that the lake had 
slipped from my grasp after all. Seeing no favorable 
sign as I went forward, I laid down my accoutre- 
ments, and climbed a decayed beech that leaned out 
over the swamp and promised a good view from the 
top. As I stretched myself up to look around from 
the highest attainable branch, there was suddenly a 
loud crack at the root. With a celerity that would 
at least have done credit to a bear, I regained the 
■ground, having caught but a momentary glimpse of 
the country, but enough to convince me no lake was 
near. Leaving all incumbrances here but my gun, I 
still pressed on, loath to be thus baffled. After 
floundering through another alder-swamp for nearly 
half a mile, I flattered myself that I was close on to 
the lake. I caught sight of a low spur of the mount- 
ain sweeping around like a half extended arm, and I 
fondly imagined that within its clasp was the object 
of my search. But I found only more alder-swamp. 
After this region was cleared, the creek began to 
descend the mountain very rapidly. Its banks be- 
came high and narrow, and it went whirling away 
with a sound that seemed to my ears like a burst of 
ironical laughter. I turned back with a feeling of 
mingled disgust, shame, and vexation. In fact I was 
almost sick, and when I reached my companions, after 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 199 

an absence of nearly two hour*, hungry, fatigued, and 
dishearteued, I would have sold my interest in Thom- 
as's Lake at a very low figure. For the first time, I 
heartily wished myself well out of the woods. Thomas 
might keep his lake, and the enchanters guard his 
possession ! I doubted if he had ever found it the sec- 
ond time, or if any one else ever had. 

My companions who were quite fresh, and who 
had not felt the strain of baffled purpose as I had, 
assumed a more encouraging tone. After I had 
rested a while, and partaken sparingly of the bread 
and whiskey, which in such an emergency is a great 
improvement on bread and water, I agreed to their 
proposition that we should make another attempt. 
As if to reassure us, a robin sounded his cheery call 
near by, and the winter-wren, the first I had heard 
in these woods, set his music-box going, which fairly 
ran over with fine, gushing, lyrical sounds. There 
can be no doubt but this bird is one of our finest 
songsters. If it would only thrive and sing well 
when caged, like the canary, how far it would sur- 
pass that bird ! It has all the vivacity and versatil- 
ity of the canary, without any of its shrillness. Its 
song is indeed a little cascade of melody. 

"We again retraced our steps, rolling the stone, as 
it were, back up the mountain, determined to commit 
ourselves to the line of marked trees. These we 
finally reached, and, after exploring the country to 
the right, saw that bearing to the left was still the 
Drder. The trail led up over a gentle rise of ground, 



200 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

and in less than twenty minutes we were in the woods 
I had passed through when I found the lake. The 
error I had made was then plain ; we had come off 
the mountain a few paces too far to the right, and s > 
had passed down on the wrong side of the ridge, into 
what we afterwards learned was the valley of Alder 
Creek. 

We now made good time, and before many minutes 
I again saw the mimic sky glance through the trees. 
As we approached the lake a solitary woodchuck, the 
first wild animal we had seen since entering the 
woods, sat crouched upon the root of a tree a few 
feet from the water, apparently completed nonplussed 
by the unexpected appearance of danger on the land 
side. All retreat was cut off, and he looked his fate 
in the face without flinching. I slaughtered him just 
as a savage would have done, and from the same mo- 
tive, — I wanted his carcass to eat. 

The mid-afternoon sun was now shining upon the 
lake, and a low, steady breeze drove the little waves 
rocking to the shore. A herd of cattle were brows- 
ing on the other side, and the bell of the leader 
sounded across the water. In these solitudes its 
clang was wild and musical. 

To try the trout was the first thing in order. On 
a rude raft of logs which we found moored at the 
shore, and which with two aboard shipped about a 
foot of water, we floated out and wet our first fly in 
Thomas's Lake ; but the trout refused to jump, and, 
to be frank, not more than a dozen and a half were 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 201 

caught during our stay. Only a week previous, a 
party of three had taken in a few hours all the fish 
they could carry out of the woods, and had nearly 
surfeited their neighbors with u-out. But from some 
cause they now refused to rise, or to touch any kind 
of bait : so we fell to catching the sun-fish which were 
small but very abundant. Their nests were all along 
shore. A space about the size of a breakfast-plate 
was cleared of sediment and decayed vegetable mat- 
ter, revealing the -pebbly bottom, fresh and bright, 
with one or two fish suspended over the centre of it, 
keeping watch and ward. If an intruder approached, 
they would dart at him spitefully. These fish have 
the air of bantam cocks, and with their sharp, prickly 
fins and spines, and scaly sides, must be ugly custom- 
ers in a hand to hand encounter with other finny 
warriors. To a hungry man they look about as un- 
promising as hemlock slivers, so thorny and thin are 
they ; yet there is sweet meat in them, as we found 
that day. 

Much refreshed, I set out with the sun low in the 
west to explore the outlet of the lake and try for 
trout there, while my companions made further trials 
in the lake itself. The outlet, as is usual in bodies 
of water of this kind, was very gentle and private. 
The stream, six or eight feet wide, flowed silently and 
evenly along for a distance of three or four rods, 
vhen it suddenly, as if conscious of its freedom, took 
a leap down some rocks. Thence, as far as I fol- 
lowed it, its descent was very rapid, through a con- 



202 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

tinuous succession of brief falls like so many steps 
down the mountain. Its appearance promised more 
trout than I found, though I returned to camp with a 
very respectable string. 

Toward sunset I went round to explore the inlet, 
and found that as usual the stream wound leisurely 
through marshy ground. The water being much 
colder than in the outlet, the trout were more plenti- 
ful. As I was picking my way over the miry ground 
and through the rank growths, a ruffed grouse hopped 
up on a fallen branch a few paces before me, and, 
jerking his tail, threatened to take flight. But as I 
was at that moment gunless and remained stationary, 
he presently jumped down and walked away. 

A seeker of birds, and ever on the alert for some 
new acquaintance, my attention was arrested, on first 
entering the swamp, by a bright, lively song, or war- 
ble, that issued from the branches overhead, and that 
was entirely new to me, though there was something 
in the tone of it that told me the bird was related to 
the wood-wagtail and to the water-wagtail or thrush. 
The strain was emphatic and quite loud, like the 
canary's, but very brief. The bird kept itself well 
secreted in the upper branches of the trees and for a 
\ong time eluded my eye. I passed to and fro sev- 
eral times, and it seemed to break out afresh as I ap- 
proached a certain little bend in the creek, and to 
cease after I had got beyond it ; no doubt its nest 
was somewhere in the vicinity. After some delay 
the bird was sighted and brought down. It proved 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 203 

to be the small, or Northern, water-thrush (tailed also 
the New York water-thrush) — a new bird to me. 
In size it was noticeably smaller than the large, or 
Louisiana, water-thrush, as described by Audubon, 
but in other respects its general appearance was the 
same. It was a great treat to me, and again I felt 
myself in luck. 

This bird was unknown to the older ornithologists, 
and is but poorly described by the new. It builds a 
mossy nest on the ground, or under the edge of a de- 
cayed log. A correspondent writes me that he has 
found it breeding on the mountains in Pennsylvania. 
The large-billed water-thrush is much the superior 
songster, but the present species has a very bright 
and cheerful strain. The specimen I saw, contrary 
to the habits of the family, kept in the tree-tops like 
a warbler, and seemed to be engaged in catching in- 
sects. 

The birds were unusually plentiful and noisy about 
the head of this lake; robins, blue jays, and wood- 
peckers greeted me with their familiar notes. The 
blue jays found an owl or some wild animal a short 
distance above me, and, as is their custom on such 
occasions, proclaimed it at the top of their voices, 
and kept on till the darkness began to gather in the 
woods. 

I also heard here, as I had at two or three other 
points in the course of the day, the peculiar, resonant 
hammering of some species of woodpecker upon the 
6ard, dry limbs. It was unlike any sound of the kind 



204 BIECH BROWSINGS. 

I had ever before heard, and, repeated at intervals 
through the silent woods, was a very marked and 
characteristic feature. Its peculiarity was the ordered 
succession of the raps, which gave it the character of 
a premeditated performance. There were first three 
strokes following each other rapidly, then two much 
louder ones with longer intervals between them. I 
heard the drumming here, and the next day at sunset 
at Furlow Lake, the source of Dry Brook, and in no 
instance was the order varied. There was melody in 
it, such as a woodpecker knows how to evoke from a 
smooth, dry branch. It suggested something quite 
as pleasing as the liveliest bird-song, and was if any- 
thing more woodsy and wild. As the yellow-bellied 
woodpecker was the most abundant species in these 
woods I attributed it to him. It is the one sound 
that still links itself with those scenes in my mind. 

At sunset the grouse began to drum in all parts of 
the woods about the lake. I could hear five at one 
time, thump, thump, thump, thump, thr-r-r-r-r-r-rr. 
It was a homely, welcome sound. As I returned to 
camp at twilight, along the shore of the lake, the 
frogs also were in full chorus. The older ones ripped 
out their responses to each other with terrific force 
and volume. I know of no other animal capable of 
giving forth so much sound, in proportion to its size, 
as a frog. Some of these seemed to bellow as loud 
as a two-year-old bull. They were of immense size, 
and very abundant. No frog-eater had ever been 
there. Near the shore we felled a tree which reached 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 205 

far out in the lake. Upon the trunk and branches 
the frogs had soon collected in large numbers, and 
gamboled and splashed about tlje half-submerged top, 
like a parcel of school-boys, making nearly as much 
noise. 

After dark, as I was frying the fish, a panful of 
the largest trout was accidentally capsized in the fire. 
With rueful countenances we contemplated the irrep- 
arable loss our commissariat had sustained by this 
mishap ; but remembering there was virtue in ashes, 
we poked the half-consumed fish from the bed of coals 
and ate them, and they were good. 

TTe lodged that night on a brush-heap and slept 
soundly. The green, yielding beech-twigs, covered 
with a buffalo robe, were equal to a hair mattress. 
The heat and smoke from a large fire kindled in the 
afternoon had banished every " no-see-em " from the 
locality, and in the morning the sun was above the 
mountain before we awoke. 

I immediately started again for the inlet, and went 
far up the stream toward its source. A fair string of 
trout for breakfast was my reward. The cattle with 
the bell were at the head of the valley, where they 
had passed the night. Most of them were two-year- 
old steers. They came up to me and begged for salt, 
and scared the fish by their importunities. 

We finished our bread that morning, and ate every 
fish we could catch, and about ten o'clock prepared 
to leave the lake. The weather had been admirable, 
*nd the lake was a gem, and I would gladly have 



206 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

spent a week in the neighborhood ; but the question 
of supplies was a serious one, and would brook no 
delay. 

When we reached, on our return, the point where 
we had crossed the line of marked trees the day be- 
fore, the question arose whether we should still trust 
ourselves to this line, or follow our own trail back to 
the spring and the battlement of rocks on the top of 
the mountain, and thence to the rock where the 
guide had left us. We decided in favor of the former 
course. After a march of three quarters of an hour 
the blazed trees ceased, and we concluded we were 
near the point at which we had parted with the guide. 
So we built a fire, laid down our loads, and cast about 
on all sides for some clew as to our exact locality. 
Nearly an hour was consumed in this manner and 
without any result. I came upon a brood of young 
grouse, wjiich diverted me for a moment. The old 
one blustered about at a furious rate, trying to draw 
all attention to herself, while the young ones, which 
were unable to fly, hid themselves. She whined like 
a dog in great distress, and dragged herself along ap- 
parently with the greatest difficulty. As I pursued 
her, she ran very nimbly, and presently flew a few 
yards. Then, as I went on, she flew farther and 
farther each time, till at last she got up, and went 
humming through the woods as if she had no interest 
in them. I went back and caught one of the young, 
which had simply squatted close to the leaves^ I 
took it up and set it on the palm of my hand, which 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 207 

it hugged as closely as if still upon the ground. I 
then put it in my coatsleeve, when it ran and nestled 
in my armpit. 

When we met at the sign of the smoke, opinions 
differed as to the most feasible course. There was no 
doubt but that we could get out of the woods ; but 
we wished to get out speedily and as near as pos- 
sible to the point where we had entered. Half 
ashamed of our timidity and indecision, we finally 
tramped away back to where we had crossed the 
line of blazed trees, followed our old trail to the 
spring on the top of the range, and, after much 
searching and scouring to the right and left found 
ourselves at the very place we had left two hours 
before. Another deliberation and a divided council. 
But something must be done. It was then mid-after- 
noon, and the prospect of spending another night on 
the mountains, without food or drink, was, not pleas- 
ant. So we moved down the ridge. Here another 
line of marked trees was found, the course of which 
formed an obtuse angle with the one we had followed. 
It kept on the top of the ridge for perhaps a mile, 
when it entirely disappeared, and we were as much 
adrift as ever. Then one of the party swore on oath, 
and said he was going out of those woods, hit or miss, 
and wheeling to the right, instantly plunged over 
the brink of the mountain. The rest followed, but 
would fain have paused and ciphered away at their 
own uncertainties, to see if a certainty could not be 
arrived at as to where we would come out. But our 



208 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 

bold leader was solving the problem in the right way 
Down and down and still down we went, as if we 
were to bring up in the bowels of the earth. It was 
by far the steepest descent we had made, and we felt 
a grim satisfaction in knowing that we could not re- 
trace our steps this time, be the issue what it might. 
As we paused on the brink of a ledge of rocks, we 
chanced to see through the trees distant cleared land. 
A house or barn also was dimly descried. This was 
encouraging ; but we could not make out whether it 
was on Beaver Kill or Mill Brook or Dry Brook, 
and did not long stop to consider where it was. We 
at last brought up at the bottom of a deep gorge, 
through which flowed a rapid creek that literally 
swarmed with trout. But we were in no mood to 
catch them, and pushed on along the channel of the 
stream, sometimes leaping from rock to rock, and 
sometimes splashing heedlessly through the water, 
and speculating the while as to where we would 
probably come out, On the Beaver Kill, my com- 
panions thought; but, from the position of the sun, I 
said, on the Mill Brook, about six miles below our 
team ; for I remembered having seen, in coming up 
this stream, a deep, wild valley that led up into the 
mountains, like this one. Soon the banks of the 
stream became lower, and we moved into the woods. 
Here we entered upon an obscure wood-road, which 
presently conducted us into the midst of a vast hem- 
lock forest. The land had a gentle slope, and we 
wondered why the lumbermen and barkmen who 



BIRCH BROWSINGS. 209 

prowl through these woods had left this fine tract 
untouched. Beyond this the forest was mostly birch 
and maple. 

We were now close to the settlement, and began 
to hear human sounds. One rod more, and we were 
out of the woods. It took us a moment to compre- 
hend the scene. Things looked very strange at first ; 
but quickly they began to change and to put on fa- 
miliar features. Some magic scene-shifting seemed 
to take place before my eyes, till, instead of the un- 
known settlement which I at first seemed to look 
upon there stood the farm-house at which we had 
stopped two days before, and at the same moment we 
heard the stamping of our team in the barn. We 
sat down and laughed heartily over our good luck. 
Our desperate venture had resulted better than we 
had dared to hope, and had shamed our wisest plans. 
At the house our arrival had been anticipated about 
this time, and dinner was being put upon the table. 

It was then five o'clock, so that we had been in the 
woods just forty-eight hours ; but if time is only 
phenomenal, as the philosophers say, and life only in 
feeling, as the poets aver, we were some months, if 
not years, older at that moment than we had been 
two days before. Yet younger too, — though this be 
a paradox, — for the birches had infused into us some 
of their own suppleness and strength. 
14 



THE BLUEBIRD. 




Bluebird. 



THE BLUEBIRD. 

When Nature made the bluebird she wished to 
propitiate both the sky and the earth, so she gave 
him the color of the one on his back and the hue of 
the other on his breast, and ordained that his appear- 
ance in spring should denote that the strife and war 
between these two elements was at an end. He is 
the peace-harbinger ; in him the celestial and terres- 
trial strike hands and are fast friends. He means 
the furrow and he means the warmth ; he means all 
the soft, wooing influences of the spring on the one 
hand, and the retreating footsteps of winter on the 
other. 

It is sure to be a bright March morning when you 
iirst hear his note ; and it is as if the milder in- 
fluences up above had found a voice and let a word 
fall upon your ear, so tender is it and so prophetic, a 
hope tinged with a regret. 



214 THE BLUEBIRD. 

" Bermuda ! Bermuda ! Bermuda ! " lie seems to 
Bay, as if both invoking and lamenting, and behold ! 
Bermuda follows close, though the little pilgrim may 
be only repeating the tradition of his race, himself 
having come only from Florida, the Carolinas, or 
even from Virginia, where he has found his Bermuda 
on some broad sunny hill-side thickly studded with 
cedars and persimmon trees. 

In New York and in New England the sap starts 
up in the sugar-maple the very day the bluebird 
arrives, aDd sugar-making begins forthwith. The 
bird is generally a mere disembodied voice ; a rumor 
in the air for two or three days before it takes visible 
shape before you. The males are the pioneers, and 
come several days in advance of the females. By 
the time both are here and the pair have begun to 
prospect for a place to nest, sugar-making is over, 
the last vestige of snow has disappeared, and the 
plow is brightening its mould-board in the new fur- 
row. 

The bluebird enjoys the preeminence of being the 
first bit of color that cheers our northern landscape. 
The other birds that arrive about the same time — 
the sparrow, the robin, the phoebe-bird — are clad in 
neutral tints, gray, brown, or russet ; but the blue- 
bird brings one of the primary hues and the divinest 
of them all. 

This bird also has the distinction of answering very 
nearly to the robin redbreast of English memory, 
and was by the early settlers of New England 
christened the blue-robin. 



THE BLUEBIRD. 215 

It is a size or two larger, and the ruddy hue of its 
Dreast does not verge so nearly on an orange, but the 
manners and habits of the two birds are very much 
alike. Our bird has the softest voice, but the Eng- 
lish redbreast is much the most skilled musician. 
He has indeed a fine, animated warble, heard nearly 
the year through about English gardens and along 
the old hedge-rows, that is quite beyond the compass 
of our bird's instrument. On the other hand, our 
bird is associated with the spring as the British spe- 
cies cannot be, being a winter resident also, while 
the brighter sun and sky of the New World has given 
him a coat that far surpasses that of his transatlantic 
cousin. 

It is worthy of remark that among British birds 
there is no blue-bird. The cerulean tint seems much 
rarer among the feathered tribes there than here. 
On this continent there are at least three species of 
the common bluebird, while in all our woods there is 
the blue jay and the indigo-bird, — the latter so in- 
tensely blue as to fully justify its name. There is 
also the blue grossbeak, not much behind the indigo- 
bird in intensity of color ; and among our warblers 
the blue tint is very common. 

It is interesting to know that the blue-bird is not 
confined to any one section of the country ; and that 
when one goes west he will still have this favorite 
with him, though a little changed in voice and color, 
just enough to give variety without marring the 
identity. 



216 THE BLUEBIRD. 

The western bluebird is considered a distinct spe- 
cies, and is perhaps a little more brilliant and showy 
than its Eastern brother ; and Nuttall thinks its 
song is more varied, sweet, and tender. Its color 
approaches to ultramarine, while it has a sash of 
chestnut-red across its shoulders, — all the effects, I 
expect, of that wonderful air and sky of California, 
and of those great western plains ; or if one goes a 
little higher up into the mountainous regions of the 
West he finds the Arctic bluebird, the ruddy brown 
on the breast changed to greenish-blue, and the wings 
longer and more pointed ; in other respects not dif- 
fering much from our species. 

The bluebird usually builds its nest in a hole in a 
stump or stub, or in an old cavity excavated by a 
woodpecker, when such can be had ; but its first im- 
pulse seems to be to start in the world in much more 
style, and the happy pair make a great show of house- 
hunting about the farm-buildings, now half persuaded 
to appropriate a dove-cot, then discussing in a lively 
manner a last year's swallow's nest, or proclaiming 
with much flourish and flutter that they have taken 
the wren's house, or the tenement of the purple mar- 
tin ; till finally nature becomes too urgent, when all 
this pretty make-believe ceases, and most of them 
settle back upon the old family stumps and knot- 
holes in remote fields, and go to work in earnest. 

In such situations the female is easily captured by 
approaching very stealthily and covering the entrance 
to the nest. The bird seldom makes anv effort tc 



THE BLUEBIRD. 2Yl 

escape, seeing how hopeless the case is, and keeps 
her place on the nest till she feels your hand closing 
around her. I have looked down into the cavity and 
seen the poor thing palpitating with fear and looking 
up with distended eyes, but never moving till I had 
withdrawn a few paces ; then she rushes out with a 
cry that brings the male on the scene in a hurry. 
He warbles and lifts his wings beseechingly, but 
shows no anger or disposition to scold and complain 
like most birds. Indeed, this bird seems incapable of 
uttering a harsh note, or of doing a spiteful, ill-tem- 
pered thing. 

The ground-builders all have some art or device to 
decoy one away from the nest, affecting lameness, a 
crippled wing, or a broken back, promising an easy 
capture if pursued. The tree-builders depend upon 
concealing the nest or placing it beyond reach. But 
the bluebird has no art either way, and its nest is 
easily found. 

About the only enemies the sitting bird or the nest 
is in danger of, are snakes and squirrels. I knew of 
a farm-boy who was in the habit of putting his hand 
down into a bluebird's nest and taking out the old 
bird whenever he came that way. One day he put 
his hand in, and feeling something peculiar, withdrew 
it hastily, when it was instantly followed by the head 
and neck of an enormous black snake. The boy took 
to his heels and the snake gave chase, pressing him 
olose till a plowman near by came to the rescue 
with his ox-whip. 



218 THE BLUEBIRD. 

There never was a happier or more devoted hus- 
band than the male bluebird is. But among nearly 
all our familiar birds the serious cares of life seem to 
devolve almost entirely upon the female. The male 
is hilarious and demonstrative, the female serious and 
anxious about her charge. The male is the attendant 
of the female, following her wherever she goes. He 
never leads, never directs, but only seconds and ap- 
plauds. If his life is all poetry and romance, hers is 
all business and prose. She has no pleasure but her 
duty, and no duty but to look after her nest and 
brood. Sne shows no affection for the male, no pleas- 
ure in his society ; she only tolerates him as a neces- 
sary evil, and, if he is killed, goes in quest of another 
in the most business-like manner, as you would go 
for the plumber or the glazier. In most cases the 
male is the ornamental partner in the firm, and con- 
tributes little of the working capital. There seems 
to be more equality of the sexes among the wood- 
peckers, wrens, and swallows ; while the contrast is 
greatest, perhaps, in the bobolink family, where the 
vourting is done in the Arab fashion, the female flee- 
ing with all her speed and the male pursuing with 
equal precipitation ; and were it not for the broods of 
young birds that appear, it would be hard to believe 
that the intercourse ever ripened into anything more 
intimate. 

With the bluebirds the male is useful as well as 
ornamental. He is the gay champion and escort of 
the female at all times, and while she is sitting he 



THE BLUEBIRD. 219 

feeds her regularly. It is very pretty to watch them 
building their nest. The male is very active in hunt- 
ing out a place and exploring the boxes and cavities, 
but seems to have no choice in the matter and is 
anxious only to please and encourage his mate, who 
has the practical turn and knows what will do and 
what will not. After she has suited herself he ap- 
plauds her immensely, and away the two go in quest 
of material for the nest, the male acting as guard and 
flying above and in advance of the female. She brings 
all the material and does all the work of building, 
he looking on and encouraging her with gesture and 
song. He acts also as inspector of her work, but I 
fear is a very partial one. She enters the nest 
with her bit of dry grass or straw, and having ad- 
justed it to her notion, withdraws and waits near 
by while he goes in and looks it over. On com- 
ing out he exclaims very plainly, "Excellent! ex- 
cellent ! " and away the two go again for more ma- 
terial. 

The bluebirds, when they build about the farm- 
buildings, sometimes come in conflict with the swal- 
lows. The past season I knew a pair to take forci- 
ble possession of the domicile of a pair of the latter 
— the cliff species that now stick their nests under 
the eaves of the barn. The bluebirds had been 
broken up in a little bird-house near by, by the rats 
or perhaps a weasel, and being no doubt in a bad 
humor, and the season being well advanced, they 
made forcible entrance into the adobe tenement of 



220 THE BLUEBIKD. 

their neighbors, and held possession of it for some 
days, but I believe finally withdrew, rather than live 
amid such a squeaky, noisy colony. I have heard 
that these swallows, when ejected from their homes 
in that way by the phcebe-bird, have been known to 
fall to and mason up the entrance to the nest while 
their enemy was inside of it, thus having a revenge as 
complete and cruel as anything in human annals. 

The bluebirds and the house-wrens more fre 
quently come into collision. A few years ago I put 
up a little bird-house in the back end of my garden 
for the accommodation of the wrens, and every sea- 
son a pair have taken up their abode there. One 
spring a pair of bluebirds looked into the tenement 
and lingered about several days, leading me to hope 
that they would conclude to occupy it. But they 
finally went away, and later in the season the wrens 
appeared, and after a little coquetting, were regularly 
installed in their old quarters and were as happy as 
only wrens can be. 

One of our younger poets, Myron Benton, saw a 
Uttle bird 

" Ruffled with whirlwind of his ecstasies," 

which must have been the wren, as I know of no 
other bird that so throbs and palpitates with music 
as this little vagabond. And the pair I speak of 
seemed exceptionably happy, and the male had a 
small tornado of song in his crop that kept him 
"ruffled" every moment in the day. But before 



THE BLUEBIRD. 221 

their honeymoon was over the bluebirds returned. 
I knew something was wrong before I was up in the 
morning. Instead of that voluble and gushing song 
outside the window, I heard the wrens scolding and 
crying at a fearful rate, and on going out saw the 
bluebirds in possession of the box. The poor wrens 
were in despair ; they wrung their hands and tore 
their hair, after the wren fashion, but chiefly did they 
rattle out their disgust and wrath at the intruders. 
I have no doubt that if it could have been interpreted 
it would have proven the rankest and most voluble 
Billingsgate ever uttered. For the wren is saucy, 
and he has a tongue in his head that can outwag any 
other tongue known to me. 

The bluebirds said nothing, but the male kept an 
eye on Mr. Wren ; and when he came too near, gave 
chase, driving him to cover under the fence, or under 
a rubbish-heap or other object, where the wren would 
scold and rattle away, while his pursuer sat on the 
fence or the pea-brush waiting for him to reappear. 

Days passed, and the usurpers prospered and the 
outcasts were wretched ; but the latter lingered 
about, watching and abusing their enemies, and hop- 
ing, no doubt, that things would take a turn, as they 
presently did. The outraged wrens were fully 
avenged. The mother bluebird had laid her full 
complement of eggs and was beginning to set, 
when one day, as her mate was perched above her 
on the barn, along came a boy with one of thos6 
wicked elastic slings and cut him down with a pebble. 



222 THE BLUEBIRD. 

There he lay like a bit of sky fallen upon the grass. 
The widowed bird seemed to understand what had 
happened, and without much ado disappeared next 
day in quest of another mate. How she contrived 
to make her wants known without trumpeting them 
about I am unable to say. But I presume the birds 
have a way of advertising that answers the purpose 
well. Maybe she trusted to luck to fall in with some 
stray bachelor or bereaved male, who would under- 
take to console a widow of one day's standing. I 
will say, in passing, that there are no bachelors from 
choice among the birds ; they are all rejected suitors, 
while old maids are entirely unknown. There is a 
Jack to every Gill ; and some to boot. 

The males being more exposed by their song and 
plumage, and by being the pioneers in migrating, 
seem to be slightly in excess lest the supply fall 
short, and hence it sometimes happens that a few are 
bachelors perforce ; there are not females enough to 
go around, but before the season is over there are 
sure to be some vacancies in the marital ranks, which 
they are called on to fill. 

In the mean time the wrens were beside themselves 
tvith delight; they fairly screamed with joy. If the 
male was before " ruffled with whirlwind of his ecsta- 
sies," he was now in danger of being rent asunder. 
He inflated his throat and caroled as wren never car- 
oled before. And the female, too, how she cackled 
and darted about ! How busy they both were ! 
Rushing into the nest, they hustled those eggs out in 



THE BLUEBIRD. 223 

less than a minute, wren time. They carried in new 
material, and by the third day were fairly installed 
again in their old quarters ; but on the third day, so 
rapidly are these little dramas played, the female 
bluebird reappeared with another mate. Ah ! how 
the wren stock went down then ! "What dismay and 
despair filled again those little breasts ! It was piti- 
ful. They did not scold as before, but after a day 
or two withdrew from the garden, dumb with grief, 
and gave up the struggle. 

The bluebird, finding her eggs gone and her nest 
changed, seemed suddenly seized with alarm and 
shunned the box ; or else, finding she had less need 
for another husband than she thought, repented her 
rashness and wanted to dissolve the compact. But 
the happy bridegroom would not take the hint, and 
exerted all his eloquence to comfort and reassure her. 
He was fresh and fond, and until this bereaved fe- 
male found him I am sure his suit had not prospered 
that season. He thought the box just the thing, and 
that there was no need of alarm, and spent days in 
trying to persuade the female back. Seeing he could 
not be a step-father to a family, he was quite willing 
L o assume a nearer relation. He hovered about the 
box, he went in and out, he called, he warbled, he 
entreated ; the female would respond occasionally 
and come and alight near, and even peep into the 
nest, but would not enter it, and quickly flew away 
again. Her mate would reluctantly follow, but he 
was soon back, uttering the most confident and cheer- 



224 



THE BLUEBIRD, 



ing calls. If she did not come he would perch above 
the nest and sound his loudest notes over and over 
again, looking in the direction of his mate and beck- 
oning with every motion. But she responded less 
and less frequently. Some days I would see him 
only, but finally he gave it up ; the pair disappeared, 
and the box remained deserted the rest of the sum- 
mer. 




THE INVITATION. 



16 




Sprague's Lark. 



THE INVITATION. 



Years ago, when quite a youth, I was rambling in 
the woods, one Sunday, with my brothers, gathering 
black birch, wintergreens, etc., when, as we reclined 
upon the ground, gazing vaguely up into the trees, I 
caught sight of a bird, that paused a moment on a 
branch above me, the like of which I had never be- 
fore seen or heard of. It was probably the blue yel- 
low-backed warbler, as I have since found this to be a 
common bird in those woods ; but to my young fancy 
it seemed like some fairy bird, so curiously marked 
was it, and so new and unexpected. I saw it a mo- 
ment as the flickering leaves parted, noted the white 
spot on its wing, and it was gone. How the thought 
of it clung to me afterward ! It was a revelation. 
It was the first intimation I had had that the woods 
we knew so well held birds that we knew not at all. 
Were our eyes and ears so dull, then ? There was 



228 THE INVITATION. 

the robin, the blue jay, the bluebird, the yellow-bird, 
the cherry-bird, the cat-bird, the chipping-bird, the 
woodpecker, the high-hole, an occasional redbird, and 
a few others, in the woods, or along their borders, 
but who ever dreamed that there were still others 
that not even the hunters saw, and whose names no 
one had ever heard ? 

When, one summer day, later in life, I took my 
gun, and went to the woods again, in a different, 
though, perhaps, a less simple spirit, I found my 
youthful vision more than realized. There were, in- 
deed, other birds, plenty of them, singing, nesting, 
breeding, among the familiar trees, which I had be- 
fore passed by unheard and unseen. 

It is a surprise that awaits every student of or- 
nithology, and the thrill of delight that accompanies 
it, and the feeling of fresh, eager inquiry that follows, 
can hardly be awakened by any other pursuit. Take 
the first step in ornithology, procure one new speci- 
men, and you are ticketed for the whole voyage. 
There is a fascination about it quite overpowering. 
It fits so well with other things — with fishing, hunt- 
ing, farming, walking, camping-out — with all that 
takes one to the fields and woods. One may go a 
blackberrying and make some rare discovery ; or 
while driving his cow to pasture, hear a new song, or 
make a new observation. Secrets lurk on all sides. 
There is news in every bush. Expectation is ever 
on tiptoe. What no man ever saw before may the 
uext moment be revealed to you. What a new in- 



THE INVITATION. 229 

terest the woods have ! How you long to explore 
every nook and corner of them ! You would even 
find consolation in being lost in them. You could 
then hear the night birds and the owls, and, in your 
wanderings, might stumble upon some unknown 
specimen. 

In all excursions to the woods or to the shore, the 
student of ornithology has an advantage over his 
companions. He has one more resource, one more 
avenue of delight. He, indeed, kills two birds with 
one stone, and sometimes three. If others wander, 
he can never go out of his way. His game is every- 
where. The cawing of a crow makes him feel at 
home, while a new note or a new song drowns all 
care. Audubon, on the desolate coast of Labrador, 
is happier than any king ever was ; and on shipboard 
is nearly cured of his sea-sickness when a new gull 
appears in sight. 

One must taste it to understand or appreciate its 
fascination. The looker-on sees nothing to inspire 
such enthusiasm. Only a little feathers and a half- 
musical note or two ; why all this ado ? " Who 
would give a hundred and twenty dollars to know 
about the birds?" said an eastern governor, half 
contemptuously, to Wilson, as the latter solicited a 
subscription to his great work. Sure enough. Bought 
knowledge is dear at any price. The most precious 
things have no commercial value. It is not, your 
Excellency, mere technical knowledge of the birds 
that you are asked to purchase, but a new interest in 



230 THE INVITATION. 

the fields and woods, a new moral and intellectual 
tonic, a new key to the treasure-house of nature. 
Think of the many other things your Excellency 
would get ; the air, the sunshine, the healing fra- 
grance and coolness, and the many respites from the 
knavery and turmoil of political life. 

Yesterday was an October day of rare brightness 
and warmth. I spent the most of it in a wild, wooded 
gorge of Rock Creek. A persimmon-tree which 
stood upon the bank had dropped some of its fruit in 
the water. As I stood there, half-leg deep, picking 
them up, a wood-duck came flying down the creek 
and passed over my head. Presently it returned, 
flying up ; then it came back again, and, sweeping 
low around a bend, prepared to alight in a still, dark 
reach in the creek which was hidden from my view. 
As I passed that way about half an hour afterward, 
the duck started up, uttering its wild alarm note. In 
the stillness I could hear the whistle of its wings and 
the splash of the water when it took flight. Near 
by I saw where a raccoon had come down to the 
water for fresh clams, leaving his long, sharp track 
in the mud and sand. Before I had passed this hid- 
den stretch of water, a pair of those mysterious 
thrushes, the gray-cheeked, flew up from the ground 
xnd perched on a low branch. 

Who can tell how much this duck, this foot-print 
in the sand, and these strange thrushes from the far 
North, enhanced the interest and charm of the 
autumn woods ? 



THE INVITATION. 231 

Ornithology cannot be satisfactorily learned from 
Lhe books. The satisfaction is in learning it from 
nature. One must have an original experience with 
the birds. The books are only the guide, the invita- 
tion. Though there remain not another new species 
to describe, any young person with health and en- 
thusiasm has open to him or her the whole field 
anew, and is eligible to experience all the thrill and 
delight of original discoverers. 

But let me say, in the same breath, that the books 
can by no manner of means be dispensed with. A 
copy of Wilson or Audubon, for reference and to 
compare notes with, is invaluable. In lieu of these, 
access to some large museum or collection would be 
a great help. In the beginning, one finds it very 
difficult to identify a bird from any verbal description. 
Reference to a colored plate, or to a stuffed specimeu, 
at once settles the matter. This is the chief value of 
the books ; they are charts to sail by ; the route is 
mapped out, and much time and labor thereby saved. 
First find your bird ; observe its ways, its song, its 
calls, its flight, its haunts ; then shoot it (not ogle it 
with a glass), and compare with Audubon. In this 
way the feathered kingdom may soon be conquered. 

The ornithologists divide and subdivide the birds 
into a great many families, orders, genera, species, 
etc., which, at first sight, are apt to confuse and dis- 
courage the reader. But any interested person can 
acquaint himself with most of our song-birds, by 
keeping in mind a few general divisions, and observ- 



232 THE INVITATION. 

ing the characteristics of each. By far the greatei 
number of our laud-birds are either warblers, vireos, 
fly-catchers, thrushes, or finches. 

The warblers are, perhaps, the most puzzling. 
These are the true Sylvia, the real wood-birds. They 
are small, very active, but feeble songsters, and, to be 
seen, must be sought for. In passing through the 
woods, most persons have a vague consciousness of 
slight chirping, semi-musical sounds in the trees over- 
head. In most cases these sounds proceed from the 
warblers. Throughout the Middle and Eastern 
States, half a dozen species or so may be found in al- 
most every locality, as the redstart, 1 the Maryland 
yellow-throat, the yellow warbler (not the common 
goldfinch, with black cap, and black wings and tail), 
the hooded warbler, the black and white creeping 
warbler ; or others, according to the locality and the 
character of the woods. In pine or hemlock woods, 
one species may predominate ; in maple or oak woods, 
or in mountainous districts, another. The subdivis- 
ion of ground warblers, the most common members 
of which are the Maryland yellow-throat, the Ken- 
tucky warbler, and the mourning ground warbler, 
are usually found in low, wet, bushy, or half-open 
woods, often on, and always near the ground. 

The summer yellow-bird, or yellow warbler, is not 

1 I am aware that the redstart is generally classed among the 
fly-catchers, but its song, its form, and its habits are in every re- 
spect those of a warbler. Its main fly-catcher mark is its beak, 
but to the muscicapa proper it presents little or no resemblance tc 
the general observer. 



THE INVITATION. 283 

now a wood-bird at all, being found in orchards and 
parks, and along streams and in the trees of villages 
and cities. 

As we go north the number of warblers increases, 
till, in the northern part of New England, and in the 
Canadas, as many as ten or twelve varieties may be 
found breeding in June. Audubon found the black- 
poll warbler breeding in Labrador, and congratulates 
himself on being the first white man who had ever 
seen its nest. When these warblers pass north in 
May, they seem to go singly or in pairs, and their 
black caps and striped coats show conspicuously. 
When they return in September they are in troops 
or loose flocks, are of a uniform dull drab or brindlish 
color, and are very fat. They scour the tree-tops for 
a few days, almost eluding the eye by their quick 
movements, and are gone. 

According to my own observation, the number of 
species of warblers which one living in the middle 
districts sees, on their return in the fall, is very small 
compared with the number he may observe migrating 
North in the spring. 

The yellow-rumped warblers are the most notice- 
able of all in the autumn. They come about the 
streets and garden, and seem especially drawn to dry, 
leafless trees. They dart spitefully about, uttering a 
sharp chirp. In Washington I have seen them in 
the outskirts all winter. 

Audubon figures and describes over forty different 
warblers. More recent writers have divided and sub- 



234 THE INVITATION. 

divided the group very much, giving new names to 
new classifications. But this part is of interest and 
value only to the professional ornithologist. 

The finest songster among the Sylvia, according to 
my notions, is the black-throated greenback. Its 
song is sweet and clear, but brief. 

The rarest of the species are Swainson's warbler, 
said to be disappearing ; the cerulean warbler, said 
to be abundant about Niagara; and the mourning 
ground warbler, which I have found breeding about 
the head-waters of the Delaware, in New York. 

The vireos, or greenlets, are a sort of connecting 
link between the warblers and the true fly-catchers, 
and partake of the characteristics of both. 

The red-eyed vireo, whose sweet soliloquy is one 
of the most constant and cheerful sounds in our woods 
and groves, is, perhaps, the most noticeable and abun- 
dant species. The vireos are a little larger than the 
warblers, and are far less brilliant and variegated in 
color. 

There are four species found in most of our woods, 
namely, the red-eyed vireo, the white-eyed vireo, the 
warbling vireo, and the solitary vireo, — the red-eyed 
and warbling being most abundant, and the white- 
eyed being the most lively and animated songster. I 
meet the latter bird only in the thick, bushy growths 
of low, swampy localities, where, eluding the ob- 
server, it pours forth its song with a sharpness and a 
rapidity of articulation that are truly astonishing. 
This strain is very marked, and, though inlaid with 



THE INVITATION. 235 

the notes of several other birds, is entirely unique. 
The iris of this bird is white, as that of the red-eyed 
is red, though in neither case can this mark be dis- 
tinguished at more than two or three yards. In most 
cases the iris of birds is a dark hazel, which passes 
for black. 

The basket-like nest, pendent to the low branches 
in the woods, which the falling leaves of autumn re- 
veal to all passers, is, in most cases, the nest of the 
red-eyed, though the solitary constructs a similar tene- 
ment, but in much more remote and secluded locali- 
ties. 

The general color of this group of birds is very 
light ash beneath, becoming darker above, with a 
tinge of green. The red-eyed has a crown of a bluish 
tinge. 

Most birds exhibit great alarm and distress, usually 
with a strong dash of anger, when you approach their 
nests ; but the demeanor of the red-eyed, on such an 
occasion, is an exception to this rule. The parent 
birds move about softly amid the branches above, ey- 
ing the intruder with a curious, innocent look, utter- 
ing, now and then, a subdued note or plaint, solicitous 
and watchful, but making no demonstration of anger 
or distress. 

The birds, no more than the animals, like to be 
caught napping ; but I remember, one autumn day, 
of coming upon a red-eyed vireo that was clearly ob- 
livious to all that was passing around it. It was a 
young bird, though full grown, and it was taking its 



236 THE INVITATION. 

siesta on a low branch in a remote heathery field. 
Its head was snugly stowed away under its wing, ana 
it would have fallen an easy prey to the first hawk 
that came along. I approached noiselessly, and when 
within a few feet of it paused to note its breathings, 
so much more rapid and full than our own. A bird 
has greater lung capacity than any other living thing, 
hence more animal heat, and life at a higher pressure. 
When I reached out my hand and carefully closed it 
around the winged sleeper, its sudden terror and con- 
sternation almost paralyzed it. Then it struggled 
and cried piteously, and when released, hastened and 
hid itself in some near bushes. I never expected to 
surprise it thus a second time. 

The fly-catchers are a larger group than the vireos, 
with stronger-marked characteristics. They are not 
properly songsters, but are classed by some writers 
as screechers. Their pugnacious dispositions are well 
known, and they not only fight among themselves but 
are incessantly quarreling with their neighbors. The 
king-bird, or tyrant fly-catcher, might serve as the 
type of the order. 

The common pewee excites the most pleasant emo- 
tions, both on account of its plaintive note and its 
exquisite mossy nest. 

The phcebe-bird is the pioneer of the fly-catchers, 
and comes in April, sometimes in March. It comes 
familiarly about the house and out-buildings and usu- 
ally builds beneath hay-sheds or under bridges. 

The fly-catchers always take their insect prey on 



THE INVITATION. 237 

the wing, by a sudden darting or swooping move- 
ment ; often a very audible snap of the beak may be 
heard. 

These birds are the least elegant, both in form and 
color, of any of our feathered neighbors. They have 
short legs, a short neck, large heads, and broad, flat 
beaks, with bristles at the base. They often fly with 
a peculiar quivering movement of the wings, and 
when at rest oscillate their tails at short intervals. 

There are found in the United States nineteen spe- 
cies. In the Middle and Eastern districts, one may 
observe in summer, without any special search, about 
five of them, namely, the king-bird, the phcebe-bird, 
the wood-pewee, the great-crested fly-catcher (distin- 
guished from all others by the bright ferruginous 
color of its tail), and the small green-crested fly- 
catcher. 

The thrushes are the birds of real melody, and will 
afford one more delight jDerhaps than any other class. 
The robin is the most familiar example. Their man- 
ners, flight, and form are the same in each species. 
See the robin hop along upon the ground, strike an 
attitude, scratch for a worm, fix his eye upon some- 
thing before him or upon the beholder, flip his wings 
suspiciously, fly straight to his perch, or sit at sun- 
iown on some high branch caroling his sweet and 
honest strain, and you have seen what is characteristic 
of all the thrushes. Their carriage is preeminently 
marked by grace, and their songs by melody. 

Beside the robin, which is in no sense a wood-bird, 



238 THE INVITATION. 

we have, in New York, the wood-thrush, the hermit* 
thrush, the veery, or Wilson's thrush, the olive-backed 
thrush, and, transiently, one or two other species not 
bo clearly defined. 

The wood-thrush and the hermit stand at the head 
as songsters, no two persons, perhaps, agreeing as to 
which is the superior. 

Under the general head of finches, Audubon de- 
scribes over sixty different birds, ranging from the 
sparrows to the grossbeaks, and including the bunt- 
ings, the linnets, the snow-birds, the cross-bills, and 
the red-birds. 

We have nearly or quite a dozen varieties of the 
sparrow in the Atlantic States, but perhaps no more 
than half that number would be discriminated by the 
unprofessional observer. The song-sparrow, which 
every child knows, comes first ; at least, his voice is 
first heard. And can there be anything more fresh 
and pleasing than this first simple strain heard from 
the garden fence or a near hedge, on some bright, 
still March morning ? 

The field or vesper-sparrow, called also grass-finch, 
and bay-winged sparrow, a bird slightly larger than 
the song-sparrow and of a lighter gray color, is abun- 
dant in all our upland fields and pastures, and is a 
very sweet songster. It builds upon the ground, 
without the slightest cover or protection, and also 
roosts there. Walking through the fields at dusk 
I frequently start them up almost beneath my feet. 
When disturbed by day they fly with a quick, sharp 



THE INVITATION. 239 

movement, showing two white quills in the tail. The 
traveler along the country roads disturbs them earth- 
ing their wings in the soft dry earth, or sees them 
skulking and flitting along the fences in front of him. 
They run in the furrow in advance of the team, or 
perch upon the stones a few roads off. They sing 
much after sundown, hence the aptness of the name 
vesper-sparrow, which a recent writer, Wilson Flagg, 
has bestowed upon them. 

In the meadows and low wet lands the Savannah 
sparrow is met with, and may be known by its fine, 
insect-like song. In the swamp, the swamp-sparrow. 

The fox-sparrow, the largest and handsomest spe- 
cies of this family, comes to us in the fall, from the 
North, where it breeds. Likewise the tree or Canada 
sparrow, and the white-crowned and white-throated 
sparrows. 

The social-sparrow, alias " hair-bird," alias " red- 
headed chipping-bird," is the smallest of the sparrows, 
and, I believe, the Only one that builds in trees. 

The finches, as a class, all have short conical bills, 
,vith tails more or less forked. The purple finch 
heads the list in varied musical ability. 

Beside the groups of our more familiar birds which 
I have thus hastily outlined, there are numerous other 
groups, more limited in specimens but comprising 
some of our best known songsters. The bobolink, 
for instance, has properly no congener. The famous 
mocking-bird of the Southern States belongs to a 
genus which has but two other representatives in the 



240 THE INVITATION. 

Atlantic States, namely, the cat-bird and the long- 
tailed or ferruginous thrush. 

The wrens are a large and interesting family, and 
as songsters are noted for vivacity and volubility. 
The more common species are the house-wren, the 
wood-wren, the marsh-wren, the great Carolina wren, 
and the winter-wren, the latter perhaps deriving its 
name from the fact that it breeds in the North. It is 
an exquisite songster, and pours forth its notes so 
rapidly and with such sylvan sweetness and cadence, 
that it seems to go off like a musical alarm. 

Wilson called the kinglets wrens, but they have 
little to justify the name, except their song, which is 
of the same continuous, gushing, lyrical character as 
that referred to above. Dr. Brewer was entranced 
with the song of one of these tiny minstrels in the 
woods of New Brunswick, and thought he had found 
the author of the strain in the black-poll warbler. 
He seems loath to believe that a bird so small as either 
of the kinglets could possess such vocal powers. It 
may indeed have been the winter-wren, but from my 
own observation I believe the golden-crowned kinglet 
quite capable of such a performance. 

But I must leave this part of the subject and hasten 
on. As to works on ornithology, Audubon's, though 
its expense puts it beyond the reach of the mass of 
readers, is, by far, the most full and accurate. His 
drawings surpass all others in accuracy and spirit, 
while his enthusiasm and devotion to the work he had 
undertaken, have but few parallels in the history of 



THE INVITATION. 241 

science. His chapter on the wild goose is as good as 
a poem. One readily overlooks his style, which is 
often verbose and affected, in consideration of enthu- 
siasm so genuine and purpose so single. 

There has never been a keener eye than Audu- 
bon's, though there have been more discriminative 
ears. Nuttall, for instance, is far more happy in his 
descriptions of the songs and notes of birds, and more 
to be relied upon. Audubon thinks the song of the 
Louisiana water-thrush equal to that of the European 
nightingale, and, as he had heard both birds, one 
would think was prepared to judge. Yet he has, np 
doubt, overrated the one and underrated the other 
The song of the water-thrush is very brief, compared 
with the philomel's, and its quality is brightness and 
vivacity, while that of the latter bird, if the books 
are to be credited, is melody and harmony. Again, 
he says the song of the blue grossbeak resembles the 
bobolink's, which it does about as much as the color 
of the two birds resembles each other ; one is black 
and white and the other is blue. The song of the 
wood-wagtail, he says, consists of a " short succes- 
sion of simple notes beginning with emphasis and 
gradually falling." The truth is they run up the 
scale instead of down ; .beginning low and ending in 
a shriek 

Yet considering the extent of Audubon's work, the 
wonder is the errors are so few. I can, at this mo- 
ment, recall but one observation of his, the contrary 
of which I have proved to be true. In his account 
16 



242 THE INVITATION. 

of the bobolink he makes a point of the fact that in 
returning South in the fall they do not travel by night 
as they do when moving North in the spring. In 
Washington I have heard their calls as they flew over 
at night for four successive autumns. As he devoted 
the whole of a long life to the subject, and figured 
and described over four hundred species, one feels a 
real triumph on finding in our common woods a bird 
not described in his work. I have seen but two. 
Walking in the woods one day in early fall, in the 
vicinity of West Point, I started up a thrush that was 
sitting on the ground. It alighted on a branch a few 
yards off, and looked new to me. I thought I had 
never before seen so long-legged a thrush. I shot it, 
and saw that it was a new acquaintance. Its pecul- 
iarities were its broad, square tail ; the length of its 
legs, which were three and three quarters inches from 
the end of the middle toe to the hip-joint ; and the 
deep uniform olive-brown of the upper parts, and the 
gray of the lower. It proved to be the gray-cheeked 
thrush (Turdus alicice), named and first described by 
Professor Baird. But little seems to be known con- 
cerning it, except that it breeds in the far North, even 
on the shores of the Arctic Ocean. I would go a 
good way to hear its song. 

The present season I met with a pair of them near 
Washington, as mentioned above. In size this bird 
approaches the wood-thrush, being larger than either 
the hermit or the veery ; unlike all other species, no 
part of its plumage has a tawny or yellowish tinge 



THE INVITATION. 243 

The other specimen was the Northern or small water- 
thrush, cousin-german to the oven-bird and half- 
brother to the Louisiana water-thrush or wagtail. I 
found it at the head of a remote mountain lake among 
the sources of the Delaware, where it evidently had 
a nest. It usually breeds much farther North. It 
has a strong, clear warble, which at once suggests 
the song of its congener. I have not been able to 
find any account of this particular species in the 
books, though it seems to be well known. 

More recent writers and explorers have added to 
Audubon's list over three hundred new species, the 
greater number of which belong to the Northern and 
Western parts of the Continent. Audubon's obser- 
vations were confined mainly to the Atlantic and Gulf 
States and the adjacent islands ; hence the Western 
or Pacific birds were but little known to him, and are 
only briefly mentioned in his works. 

It is, by the way, a little remarkable how many of 
the Western birds seem merely duplicates of the East- 
ern. Thus, the varied-thrush of the West is our 
robin, a little differently marked ; and the red-shafted 
wood-pecker is our golden-wing, or high-hole, colored 
red instead of yellow. There is also a Western 
chickadee, a Western chewink, a Western blue jay, 
a Western meadow-lark, a Western snow-bird, a 
Western bluebird, a Western song-sparrow, Western 
grouse, quail, hen-hawk, etc., etc. 

One of the most remarkable birds of the West 
seems to be a species of skylark, met with on the 



244 THE INVITATION. 

plains of Dakota, which mounts to the height of three 
or four hundred feet, and showers down its ecstatic 
notes. It is evidently akin to several of our Eastern 
species. 

A correspondent, writing to me from the country 
one September, says, "I have observed recently a 
new species of bird here. They alight upon the 
buildings and fences as well as upon the ground. 
They are walkers." In a few days he obtained one, 
and sent me the skin. It proved to be what I had 
anticipated, namely, the American pipit, or titlark, a 
slender brown bird, about the size of the sparrow, 
which passes through the States in the fall and spring, 
to and from its breeding haunts in the far North. 
They generally appear by twos and threes, or in 
small loose flocks, searching for food on banks and 
plowed ground. As they fly up, they show two or 
three white quills in the tail like the vesper-sparrow. 
Flying over, they utter a single chirp or cry every 
few rods. They breed in the bleak, moss-covered 
rocks of Labrador. Their eggs have also been found 
in Vermont, and I feel quite certain that I saw this 
bird in the Adirondac Mountains in the month of 
August. The male launches into the air, and gives 
forth a brief but melodious song, after the manner of 
all larks. They are walkers. This is a characteristic 
of but few of our land-birds. By far the greater 
number are hoppers. Note the track of the common 
snow-bird ; the feet are not placed one in front of the 
other, as in the track of the crow or partridge, but 



THE INVITATION. 245 

side and side. The sparrows, thrushes, warblers, 
woodpeckers, buntings, etc., are all hoppers. On the 
other hand, all aquatic or semi-aquatic birds are 
walkers. The plovers and sandpipers and snipes 
run rapidly. Among the land-birds, the grouse, pig- 
eons, quails, larks, and various blackbirds, walk. The 
swallows walk, also, whenever they use their feet at 
all, but very awkwardly. The larks walk with ease 
and grace. Note the meadow-lark strutting about all 
day in the meadows. 

Besides being walkers, the larks, or birds allied to 
the larks, all sing upon the wing, usually poised or 
circling in the air, with a hovering, tremulous flight. 
The meadow-lark occasionally does this in the early 
part of the season. At such times its long-drawn 
note or whistle becomes a rich, amorous warble. 

The bobolink, also, has both characteristics, and, 
notwithstanding the difference of form and build, etc., 
is very suggestive of the English skylark, as it figures 
in the books, and is, no doubt, fully its equal as a 
songster. 

Of our small wood-birds we have three varieties, 
east of the Mississippi, closely related to each other, 
which I have already spoken of, and which walk, and 
sing, more or less, on the wing, namely, the two 
species of water- thrush or wagtails, and the oven-bird 
or wood-wagtail. The latter is the most common, 
And few observers of the birds can have failed to 
notice its easy, gliding walk. Its other lark trait, 
namely, singing in the air. seems not to have been ob- 



246 THE INVITATION. 

served by any naturalist. Yet, it is a well estab- 
lished characteristic, and may be verified by any per- 
son who will spend a half hour in the woods where 
this bird abounds on some June afternoon or evening. 
I hear it very frequently after sundown, when the 
ecstatic singer can hardly be distinguished against the 
sky. I know of a high, bald-top mountain where I 
have sat late in the afternoon and heard them as 
often as one every minute. Sometimes the bird 
would be far below me, sometimes near at hand ; and 
very frequently the singer would be hovering a hun- 
dred feet above the summit. He would start from 
the trees on one side of the open space, reach his 
climax in the air, and plunge down on the other side. 
Its descent after the song is finished is very rapid, 
and precisely like that of the titlark when it sweeps 
down from its course to alight on the ground. 

I first verified this observation some years ago. I 
had long been familiar with the song, but had only 
strongly suspected the author of it, when, as I was 
walking in the woods one evening, just as the leaves 
were putting out, I saw one of these birds but a few 
rods from me. I was saying to myself, half audibly, 
" Come, now, show off, if it is you ; I have come to 
the woods expressly to settle this point," when it be- 
gan to ascend, by short hops and flights, through the 
brandies, uttering a sharp, preliminary chirp. I fol- 
lowed it with my eye; saw it mount into the air and 
circle over the woods, and saw it sweep down again 
and dive through the trees, almost to the very perch 
*Tom which it had started. 



THE INVITATION. 247 

As the paramount question in the life of a bird is 
the question of food, perhaps the most serious troubles 
our feathered neighbors encounter are early in the 
spring, after the supply of fat with which nature 
stores every corner and by-place of the system, there- 
by anticipating the scarcity of food, has been ex- 
hausted, and the sudden and severe changes in the 
weather which occur at this season make unusual de- 
mands upon their vitality. No doubt many of the 
earlier birds die from starvation and exposure at this 
season. Among a troop of Canada sparrows, which 
I came upon one March day, all of them evidently 
much reduced, one was so feeble that I caught it in 
my hand. 

During the present season, a very severe cold spell, 
the first week in March, drove the bluebirds to seek 
shelter about the houses and out-buildings. As night 
approached, and the winds and the cold increased, they 
seemed filled with apprehension and alarm, and in 
the outskirts of the city came about the windows and 
doors, crept behind the blinds, clung to the gutters 
and beneath the cornice, flitted from porch to porch, 
and from house to house, seeking in vain for some 
safe retreat from the cold. The street pump, which 
bad a small opening, just over the handle, was an at- 
traction which they could not resist. And yet they 
seemed aware of the insecurity of the position ; for, 
no sooner would they stow themselves away into the 
interior of the pump, to the number of six or eight, 
than they would rush out again, as if apprehensive of 



248 THE INVITATION. 

some approaching danger. Time after time the cav- 
ity was filled and refilled, with blue and brown inter- 
mingled, and as often emptied. Presently they tar- 
ried longer than usual, when I made a sudden sally 
and captured three, that found a warmer and safer 
lodging for the night in the cellar. 

In the fall, birds and fowls of all kinds become 
very fat. The squirrels and mice lay by a supply of 
food in their dens and retreats, but the birds, to a 
considerable extent, especially our winter residents, 
carry an equivalent in their own systems, in the form 
of adipose tissue. I killed a red-shouldered hawk, 
one December, and on removing the skin found the 
body completely encased in a coating of fat one quar- 
ter of an inch in thickness. Not a particle of mus- 
cle was visible. This coating not only serves as a 
protection against the cold, but supplies the waste of 
the system, when food is scarce, or fails altogether. 

The crows at this season are in the same condition. 
It is estimated that a crow needs at least half a pound 
of meat per day, but it is evident that for weeks and 
months during the winter and spring, they must sub- 
sist on a mere fraction of this amount. I have no 
doubt a crow or hawk, when in their fall condition, 
would live two weeks without a morsel of food pass- 
ing their beaks ; a domestic fowl will do as much. 
One January, I unwittingly shut a hen under the 
floor of an out-building, where not a particle of food 
could be obtained, and where she was entirely unpro- 
tected from the severe cold. When the luckless 



THE INVITATION. 249 

Dominick was discovered, about eighteen days after- 
ward, she was brisk and lively, but fearfully pinched 
up, and as light as a bunch of feathers. The slight- 
est wind carried her before it. But by judicious 
feeding she was soon restored. 

The circumstance of the bluebirds being embold- 
ened by the cold, suggests the fact that the fear of 
man, which now seems like an instinct in the birds, 
is evidently an acquired trait, and foreign to them in 
a state of primitive nature. Every gunner has ob- 
served, to his chagrin, how wild the pigeons become 
after a few days of firing among them ; and, to his 
delight, how easy it is to approach near his game in 
new or unfrequented woods. Professor Baird tells 
me that a correspondent of theirs visited a small 
island in the Pacific Ocean, situated about two hun- 
dred miles off Cape St. Lucas, to procure specimens. 
The island was but a few miles in extent, and had 
probably never been visited half a dozen times by 
human beings. The naturalist found the birds and 
water-fowls so tame that it was but a waste of am- 
munition to shoot them. Fixing a noose on the end 
of a long stick, he captured them by putting it over 
their necks and hauling them to him. In some cases 
not even this contrivance was needed. A species of 
mocking-bird, in particular, larger than ours, and a 
splendid songster, made itself so familiar as to be al- 
most a nuisance, hopping on the table where the col- 
lector was writing, and scattering the pens and paper. 
Eighteen species were found, twelve of them peculiar 
'o the island. 



250 THE INVITATION. 

Thoreau relates that in the woods of Maine the 
Canada jay will sometimes make its meal with the 
lumbermen, taking the food out of their hands. 

Yet, notwithstanding the birds have come to look 
upon man as their natural enemy, there can be little 
doubt that civilization is on the whole favorable to 
their increase and perpetuity, especially to the 
smaller species. With man come flies and moths, 
and insects of all kinds in greater abundance ; new 
plants and weeds are introduced, and, with the clear- 
ing up of the country, are sowed broadcast over the 
land. 

The larks and snow-buntings that come to us from 
the North, subsist almost entirely upon the seeds of 
grasses and plants; and how many of our more com- 
mon and abundant species are field-birds, and entire 
strangers to deep forests ? 

In Europe some birds have become almost domes- 
ticated, like the house-sparrow, and in our own coun- 
try the cliff-swallow seem to have entirely abandoned 
- and shelving rocks, as a place to nest, for the 
eaves and projections of farms and other out-build- 
ings. 

After one has made the acquaintance of most of 
the land-birds, there remain the sea-shore and its 
treasures. How little one knows of the aquatic 
fowls, even after reading carefully the best authori- 
ties, was recently forced home to my mind by the 
following circumstance : I was spending a vacation 
in the interior of New York, when one day a 



THE INVITATION. 251 

6tranger alighted before the house, and with a cigar 
box in his hand approached me as I sat in the door- 
way. I was about to say that he would waste his 
time in recommending his cigars to me, as I never 
smoked, when he said that, hearing I knew some- 
thing about birds, he had brought me one which had 
been picked up a few hours before in a hay-field near 
the village, and which was a stranger to all who had 
seen it. As he began to undo the box I expected to 
see some of our own rarer birds, perhaps the rose- 
breasted grossbeak or Bohemian chatterer. Imagine, 
then, how I was taken aback, when I beheld instead, 
a swallow-shaped bird, quite as large as a pigeon, 
with forked tail, glossy-black above, and snow-white 
beneath. Its parti-webbed feet, and its long graceful 
wings, at a glance told that it was a sea-bird ; but as 
to its name or habitat I must defer my answer till I 
could get a peep into Audubon, or some large collec- 
tion. 

The bird had fallen down exhausted in a meadow, 
and was picked up just as the life was leaving its 
body. The place must have been one hundred and 
fifty miles from the sea, as the bird flies. As it was 
the sooty-tern, which inhabits the Florida Keys, its 
ippearance so far north and so far inland may be 
considered somewhat remarkable. On removing the 
skin I found it terribly emaciated. Tt had no doubt 
starved to death, ruined by too much wing. Another 
Icarus. Its great power of flight had made it bold 
and venturesome, and had carried it so far out of its 
range that it starved before it could return. 



252 



THE INVITATION. 



The sooty-tern is sometimes called the sea-swallow, 
on account of its form and power of flight. It will 
fly nearly all day at sea, picking up food from the 
surface of the water. There are several species, 
some of them strikingly beautiful. 




INDEX. 



PAGE 

Audubon 231, 241 

Birds, as to nesting, classified 143 

songs of various . . . . 17, 18, 52, 53, 67 

distribution of, in a locality .... 29 

geograpbically .... 50 

instinct of cleanliness in ... . . 116 

propagation in 119 

relations o r *-be sexes of 118 

Blackbird, Crow 157 

7 Bluebird 12, 13, 211-224 

Bobolink 163 

Bunting, Black-throated 164 

Cow 18, 70 

Buzzard, Turkey 152 

Cat-bird 36 

Cedar-bird 100,111,160 

Chat, Yellow-breasted 172 

Chickadee 122 

Creeper, Black and White 80 

Crow 152 

Cuckoo, Black-billed 23, 24 

Yellow-billed 23 

Dakota Skylark 243, 244 



254 INDEX. 



PAGE 

Eagles, The 141 

Finch, Pine . . 86, 100 

Purple . 69, 86 

Finches, The 238 

Fly-catchers, The 236 

Gnat-catcher . 13-4 

Goldfinch, American 112 

Blue 129 

Cardinal 174 

Grossbeak, Rose-breasted 67 

Grouse, Canada 107, 206 

Hawk, Hen .... .... 43 

Pigeon 42 

Red-tailed 132 

Heron, Great Blue 90 

Humming-bird v . ... 67,101,133 

Indigo-bird 126 

Jay, Canada 250 

Kingbird 62 

Kinglets, The 240 

Lark, Shore 155 

Larks, The 244 

Oriole, Baltimore 126, 135 

Orchard 162 

Owl, Screech y . 63 



INDEX. 255 

PAGE 

Partridge "75 

* Pewees, The 62, 140 

Phoebe-bird 16, 63, 139 

Redbird 174 

7 Robin . 14, 126 

Skylark, Dakota 243, 244 

7 Snow-bird 55, 86, 127 

Sparrow, Canada 157 

Chipping . . . . . . 18, 41, 124 

Field 24, 238 

Fox 163 

White-throated . 86 

Wood, or Bush 26,126. 

j Sparrows, The 238 

Swallows, The 117, 124, 161 

Tanager, Scarlet 68 

Tern, Sooty 250 

Thrush, Golden-crowned 64 

Gray-cheeked 242 

Hermit 33, 57, 59, 100 

Louisiana Water 171 

New York Water 203, 243 

Wilson's 35, 56, 161 

Wood 31, 34, 57, 187, 190 

Thrushes, The 237 

Titlark, American 244 

7 Vireo, Red-eyed 54, 132, 235 

Solitary '. . .130 

Warbling SO 

White-eyed 28, 234 



256 INDEX. J^. 

Vireos, The it • i// • 231 

Veery /s "".^^56,161 

Wren, Winter 12, 28, 55 

Wrens, The 240 

Wagtails, The 24;^ 

Warbler, Audubon's. 87 

Blackburnian ....... 58 

Black-throated Blue-back .... 79 

Black-throated Green-back .... 79 

Blue Gray (or Gnat-catcher) . . 134, 171 

Blue, Yd low-back 58 

Chestnut-sided 78 

Kentucky 170 

Mourning Ground 77, 131 

Speckled Canada 70, 73, 87 

Varied Creeping 80, 130 

Warblers, The 171, 232 

Woodpecker, Downy 19, 115 

Golden-winged 17, 20 

] Jed-headed 113,174 

Yellow-bellied 115, 204 




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